For Every Evil
by Mirrordance
Summary: Complete. Legolas is a policeman in 2004. Though life's fallen into routine by now, he knows there's trouble ahead when he runs across the Fellowship and some old friends (and foes!) in new incarnations...
1. Antiques

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

1: Antiques

_(Elladan) _

Europe, Late 2003

* * *

She was not quite sure of who he was, what he did for a living, why he had this nobility that seemed unparalleled even by anyone from the high society she frequented. The mystery was dangerously intoxicating, and has been ever since that first time she set her eyes on him.

They met in an antique shop just outside Rome, one of those old rundown ones that she loved because of their quaint charm, and was heady with age and history. She instantly liked the look of him; aristocratic, ageless. He was just so _beautiful_, and there was a peace to him, just this quiet dignity that she found so enchanting.

He was admiring a carved antique book cover. It was how they met. She recognized the art and admired his taste even as she bit her lip in thought, wondering if she ought to do something about the pressing situation (_i.e. that they did not know each other_). She was not used to making the first move; it was never necessary before, and she noted with a great amount of displeasure that he hardly realized she was there.

"Fifth century," she blurted out from beside him, and when he looked at her with his penetrating eyes, she felt instantly foolish and girlish and silly.

His brows rose as he spoke. He had a melodious voice, well-modulated. Entrancing to say the least. "Yes, of course. I'm familiar with the piece."

"I'm not quite sure if they know just how valuable it is," she confided in him of the quaint antique shop manned by a pair of near-sighted old spinsters, her words rushing out from her mouth because of her nerves, "Fifth century," she said again, wanting to kick herself.

He smiled at her warmly, almost coaxing her to relax except the look was so inalienably radiant that it might have done just the opposite.

His name was Elladan, and he left it at that. Now she was almost thirty, incredibly successful and undoubtedly wealthy. She knew she was relatively beautiful, and had a curious effect on most men that she was mature enough not only to admit to but also to use toward her desired ends. She reminded herself of these things as she gave him her card and told him (_rather lamely_) that if he was interested in such things, he really ought to give her a call.

Elladan looked at the card. Her name was Anatalia Craxi, and he recognized the name as easily as he recognized her face. The Italian woman was a tabloid mainstay, the heiress to a successful media empire with a luscious face and what was generally perceived to be an even more luscious love life… divorce from one husband included. The title on her card said she was the president of the family's publishing house.

"You must be a woman of many talents," he said evenly, "to be in the print media, and to be so knowledgeable in art history as well."

"It's more of a hobby," she admitted with a rueful smile.

They talked some more, and strayed to a nearby café. By the time she drove home that evening, she told her father she was in love. The mogul was, of course, vastly displeased and pointed out that she ought to be careful; the man could very well be just some gold-digger on a quest for her money.

Anatalia was _painfully _wary of this, of course, having learned from her previous marriage. But she visited Elladan's estate in Vienna for a weekend a pair of months after they decided to see each other regularly, and realized he must have at least as much money as she did.

The house was large, opulent. The mansion was situated in a compound filled with gardens and fountains, everything firmly surrounded by a formidable wall. Her visits to the European countryside always made her wonder what lay behind these walls, and now she knew. The sights were breathtaking, and had a curiously _old_ spirit about it. She almost expected ghosts or fairies to pop out from their hiding places. As a staunch admirer of history, everything about the estate was making her giddy.

"Welcome to Imladris," Elladan told her with a smile, noticing with pleasure the new spring to her step and the light in her brilliant eyes.

"You will show me around," she said to him delightedly, booking no objections as she hooked her hand about his proffered arm.

She came from work in Milan, and she brought a smart suitcase with her, along with bags of clothes. He divested her of her matching luggage, shaking his head at her in dismay over the frivolity.

"It's a guilty pleasure!" she laughed defensively. He handed all of her things to a discreet majordomo. He was older than Elladan, surely, but she could not place exactly how old, just as she was clueless about the age of her beautiful and mysterious beau. The house, these men… they were very nearly like fascinating _ghosts_ to her.

"Is your eye wandering, Ana?" Elladan teased her, following her gaze, "Should I be jealous?" She opened her mouth to argue, but he was on a roll, "Looking at my servants, on top of the fact that you brought your work with you… Were you planning on ignoring for the duration of your stay here?"

"Yes," Anatalia lied bold-facedly, before adding with a smile, "I brought something that might be of interest to you. I'm actually very excited to hear what you think."

* * *

They settled in the library for tea. She was gawking at the vastness of his collection of books, and he seemed somewhat nervous as she picked up a volume or two and leafed through them.

"These symbols," Anatalia said, perplexed, "I've never seen them before. But I can tell these are at least centuries old! Why… you have millions worth of ancient art and literature here."  
"What is it you were so excited to show me?" he asked her with an inviting smile. She hesitantly placed the books right where she found them, and leafed through her suitcase from earlier. She handed him a batch of photographs and asked him to look at them closely.

He did not need to look so hard to discover what was making her so excited.

Elladan's heart nearly stopped at the sight of the very first photograph. It was a picture of a sketch of a group of explorers, dated 1585, set in Roanoke Island off North Carolina. In it was a batch of uniformed men interacting with some old American tribe, and one of these men was a blonde, clear-eyed fellow with sculpted jaws and a noble expression on his pleasant face.

_Legolas_, Elladan realized at once, his mind racing and his heart pounding as he flipped through the other photographs.

The next one was a photograph of another sketch, this time aboard a ship called the "Endeavor," dated 1769. It was no surprise that another blonde man stood there with his open, earnest and noble face.

Another sketch, this time in Java of 1820, showed Legolas with the entourage of a British governor. The next was a 1916 photograph, set in England of a batch of army recruits for World War I. The last was a photograph from London, 1940, of rescue workers busy with the aiding of the air-raided city during World War II. Throughout these sketches and photographs, his clothes changed, his hair changed, _times_ changed… but it was all so distinctly _him_.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Anatalia asked, knowing from his face that he knew just why these photographs were very important.

"Who is he?" Elladan gulped, fearing she would know the answer. _That blasted elf was supposed to have gone to the Undying Lands ages ago!_

"I don't know," she said, "A recluse of an Englishwoman named Francine Davenport died some years ago and her entire estate was auctioned off. She lost all her children and her husband during the war. _No _relatives at all. She had a rather interesting set of photographs and historical documents so I bought it all on a whim. I only found the time to take a good look at these a few months back."

"Well these photographs are all dated," Elladan pointed out, "It should not be hard to take a look at ship's logs and military records."

"I looked already," she told him, "The only names common to _all_ these years and all these photographs is that there was a Davenport assigned to this ship or this location. Not a surprise since Francine kept them all. In 1585, a first mate named Davenport was part of the group who sailed to Roanoke Island from England. 1769, another Davenport, grandchild of the 1585 one was with the legendary Captain Cook in an exploration of Tahiti. In 1820, a grandchild of the 1769 Davenport was with a British diplomatic group to Java… the same with the 1916 and 1940 photographs."

Elladan looked at the pictures again. He was so caught off-guard by the sight of Legolas that he did not notice that all the photographs also showed men who had similar features and must be the various generations of the Davenport family.

"The family has a long and glorious tradition in the Service," Anatalia continued, "But this man," she pointed to Legolas, "Either he doesn't age," she laughed nervously, "Is a ghost, or also has a family with generations in the Service as well, who incidentally all look alike."

Her cell phone was ringing, and she hurriedly passed some aged correspondence to Elladan. "I was intrigued. The letters from the 16th century talk about a fellow named Legolas Greenleaf. Those from the 18th century talk about a man named Lane Garrison. Those from the 19th century speak of Luke Grey. Francine Davenport was a packrat, she kept everything. Not atypical of a woman in a family steeped in military tradition."

She excused herself and walked to a corner of the room to answer the pressing phone call.

Elladan looked at the photographs and the letters. He was miserable, and all at once exhilerated over the idea that the Prince of Mirkwood, an old friend, was possibly somewhere _near_.

_ That is_, he thought worriedly_, if he did not manage to get himself killed between now and… _he gulped_, _looking at the most recent photograph, _1940._

He glanced up at beautiful Anatalia… she was already a risk to begin with, but now her knowledge and curiosity was an even greater threat to his concealed identity and immortality. Though he now lived in an age of anonymity, it was also an age of records and documentation. It was harder and harder to live as an affluent immortal in times like these, so he consistently kept a low profile. It's only recently that he broke his disciplined isolation; her fire and intelligence was one that he could not bear to detach himself from, since that moment he met her.

She ended the call and strode back to him with a bright-eyed smile. "You know he caught my eye because for some reason, he reminded me of you."

Elladan smiled back at her wanly, not quite _pleased_ about that, "Did he?"

"Oh yes," she replied, "You know I'm thinking of investigating this further and writing a book if it should yield anything of interest. Wouldn't that be fantastic?"

He gathered all of her papers and decided to hide his fears and thoughts by teasing her as he handed them back. "Well if you _own_ the publishing company it shouldn't give you any trouble at all."

* * *

Elrohir returned Sunday evening to find that his twin brother's lady love already left for Milan. Elladan seldom asked for favors, and Elrohir noted with a great amount of irritation that it was a rather clever device for him to point out whenever he asked for monumental requests.

_Such as_, Elrohir thought irritably, _Asking__ me to vanish for a weekend when my first perspective sister-in-law in centuries comes over for a house visit_.__

_ "Why?" he remembers asking, profoundly frustrated over the secrecy._

_ "Because I'm not sure," Elladan said, "She is an interesting woman. I think I could love her. But I have to see, for myself, _by_ myself, how she fits inside Imladris_…_"_

Elrohir knew what he meant; Elladan needed to see if she felt _right_, if his long and isolated life could find a worthy mistress at last. Imladris, though much diminished in size and scale by the ages, was still persistently grand and a great symbol and reminder of the eternity of their living. Anatalia Craxi, on the other hand, was the embodiment of an empowered and modern woman. Elrohir understood Elladan's need to see how these vast contrasts melded.

_Still_, the more mischievous side of him figured, it was fair game to return home _slightly_ early, in case he could still get a sight of the curious Italian woman who was driving his brother crazy.

I'm sorry, my cunning brother, Elladan greeted him at the door, She left some hours ago. I thought you might be up to something.

Elrohir did not bother to deny, and instead went straight to the crux of the entire episode, And so, am I going to have a sister-in-law at last?

Elladan winced. I'm not sure. Things got complicated.

TO BE CONTINUED…

**SOME NOTES**:

First of all, massive thanks to all who read and reviewed "An Unknown Place:" Lady Eleclya, Silvertongue, Jenihenpen, unplugged32, wadeva, Ella-elbereth, catmint, kristina, po-pla, ElvenEyes, Gissela, Stoneage Woman, Rangergirl, fhc, tychen, LOTRfaith, Platy, Barbara Kennedy, mischakitsune, templa otmena, child of the stars 1, millisa, KumQuat, silvertoekee, snow-glory, lady rotherane and eile igen briain :) You guys are fantastic!

Secondly, another massive thanks to all whom I've not thanked for reading and reviewing through the last parts of the "Last Stand:" AngelMouse5, Gollum's Fish, Aranna Undomiel, Cotume, Keithan, Grumpy, specialfeel, AM, ElessarLover, Starlit Hope, Amthramiel, Alariel, LOTRFaith, Miss Attitude, Barbara Kennedy, Deana, From the Silen Planet, Phydothis, Alexia, Kourin Lucrece, Sirnonenath, JadziaKathryn, Amy, Platy, Manders1953, Tychen, Jenihenpen, sodalite, MSL, wadeva, Gozilla, wew, Waking Dream, Elessar-lover, po-pla, mystic23, jenzy, dragonfly, simian and stoneage woman.

Thanks to all who read also :) Thank you for putting up with all my dramatics, haha :) I had been so uncertain about this piece and I'm glad it worked out. Thank you for the inspiration :)

I was really burned out after that effort… I was beginning to think it would be my last stand too, haha! But well, here's a new story for you. It's going to be much 'bigger' than "An Unknown Place," much (MUCH) happier, haha (I know I keep giving you guys angst and I'm so sorry!) and is yet another experimental piece. I won't update as frequently since I'm mightily busy but anyway, I hope you have fun with it J

Next chapter, we'll see Legolas as a detective in Los Angeles :)

'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	2. Birthdays

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

2: Birthdays

(_Legolas_)

Los Angeles, Early 2004

      He had a curious pair of ears, longer than the usual.

      Not that very many people noticed, for there was a host of great things that were unusual about him.  His eyes were a stunning frosted blue, and looked at things and people sometimes warmly, sometimes imperviously.  He'd win a staring game by a mile, as if he had all the time in the world (_because he did, actually_).  His hair was spun gold, his face was chiseled by what surely must have been a pair of godly hands.  His voice was even and melodious, carefully accented in this particularly high-brow British way.  It was a thrill to most women— though not so much to the tough-built ones in the station— and made his job speaking to female witnesses and complainants much easier.  It was, however, more inconvenient during his first year at the station (_way back in '96!_), when his comrades jauntily referred to him as Prince Wills.  It was also a cause for grave confusion when, shot on the leg a couple of years back, he was assigned to manning a desk rather than being on the field and, answering the phone, the American callers suddenly wondered if they indeed were calling the L.A. police station or some wrong, distant number instead.

      Legolas jogged from the parking lot toward the building, greeting the sergeant who manned the door a good morning as he passed.  The keys to his car clinked just inside his pocket as he wove his way across the crowded aisles and around the busy cubicles, bearing two cups of steaming Starbucks on an eggshell holder in one hand, and a thick batch of folders on the other.

      He stepped into his painfully neat office, smiling at the sight of the doughnut on his desk poked with a single, short, slim candle.  He released his armload upon a chair, and looked up as a batch of colleagues appeared by the door and sang him a happy birthday.

      He blew on the candle and laughed as they ended on a particularly sour note (_the rest of the song was not much better_).  While he missed the almost-obsessively constructed elvish version of singing, this effort was certainly no less endearing or touching. 

      _Even if it wasn't really his birthday…___

      "Doesn't anyone work here?" he asked them mildly.

      Detective Rafael Montes, a particularly well-built man in his late thirties, pushed his way past the dispersing crowd he all but dwarfed.  There was an open kindness to his face, a light that his imposing features-- olive skin, dark piercing eyes, dark hair, dark brows and haphazard shaving— could not mask. 

      "Aren't you a thankless bastard," Rafael told his partner coolly, eyes teasing.

      Legolas picked up the doughnut, removed the candle and took a healthy bite out of it.  "A doughnut, Rafe? Really, how typical can you get."

      The man laughed, and shamelessly picked up one of the Starbucks cups that he was certain belonged to him.  Years of working together and with the Hispanic veteran detective always taking his partner's brewed fare taught Legolas to always buy two, knowing that if he got just one, he'd be the one to end up without any.

      "Captain's gonna tell you to bug off," Rafe said to him, "Today's not a very hot day, you don't use your leaves, you _over_ on your overtime… save him the saliva and step out before he sees you.  You know, Leland, I'd hate to break it to you pal, but if you take today off, there'd still be some crime to fight tomorrow, eh?"

      "I suppose," Legolas conceded, glancing at his door, knowing their stern captain will be appearing at any moment.  Truth was, he'd rather stay.  He didn't take his paid leaves because he didn't have anything to do with them.

      "If I could have your leaves, pal," Rafe said, "I'd take 'em and run.  You know how it is.  The missus is busy too, there's this PTA or some weird trip for any one of my fifty million children…"

      "How's Julianna?" Legolas chuckled.

      "She says she wishes she married you instead of me," Rafe said with sham bitterness, "She's wondering how far our partnership goes and if you'd take over all my other active duties if I should get hit by a slug one of these days and die."

      "Tell her I'd be happy to," Legolas laughed, just as the precinct Captain, a man in his early fifties with a stern countenance and persistent eyes, stopped by his door.

      "Happy birthday, Greene," he said to Legolas tersely, "Get the hell out of my building."

      "Thank you sir," Legolas called after him as he walked away in a rush.  In a resigned manner, Legolas looked at Rafe and sighed.  "That's my exit.  One day without me, my friend.  Do try and stay alive."

      "'Do try and stay alive,'" Rafe mocked him, adopting the accent and raising the pitch of his voice, "No sweat, Queen Mother."  He lifted the other cup of coffee.  "Hey, can I have this too?"

      "Back so soon, Detective Greene?" this was a different doorman, the elderly fellow who manned his apartment building.

      "It's my birthday, Jacob," Legolas sighed, "And they told me to go away and have some fun."

      "There really ain't nothing wrong with that sir," said the doorman, "The boys and I will grab some drinks after my shift later if you want."

      "I don't like drinking," Legolas chuckled as he walked toward the elevators, "It makes me too honest."

      "Ain't nothing wrong with that either!" Jacob pointed out as the notoriously mysterious tenant headed up toward his home.

      The apartment was a stylish and expensive one.  The white marble floors were polished to a keen reflection, and antiques from all over the world (_and some from beyond it!_) artistically melded with mixed-medium modern pieces like the white leather sofas of his living room, and the rattan and spun black iron of his dining room. 

      Naturally there was a rather significant infusion of nature too.  He took great pains to have a fountain installed in his living room; it was made of an irregular, artistically jagged glass backdrop that cascaded water down to a shallow pool lined with dull-colored rocks.  It dominated the wall across from the ornate and oft-unused fireplace.  His wide balcony was also liberally adorned with flowers and grasses.  Some plants grew in _this_ apartment in the middle of the city that which could not grow anywhere else in the entire _country_, following his uncannily powerful green thumb. 

      The place might have been ostentatious; but as an elf, he would have tired out in a concrete wasteland.  As a modern 'man,' he also found it wise to invest in real estate.  Simply as _Legolas_, though, he always did love to be surrounded by beautiful things. 

      He remembered the first time his partner of eight years stepped into the high-rise.  Rafe gawked and said the place was so clean he could eat off the floor of the _bathroom_, and asked Legolas—or Leland, as he was known here-- with a rather serious expression if he really was some kind of royalty that he wasn't talking about.

      The Prince of Mirkwood, from a long and noble line of elves that stretched across ages and toward a place beyond the circles of _this_ world, laughed and said his family was in the-- he remembered he was nervous and scrambling for a good lie— the family was in the… _uh_… fertilizer business.

      Legolas walked to his answering machine and let it run.  There were several messages, as always.  Mostly associates, some women, just before the clever and surprising sound of a voice from _too_ long ago.

      "You're a _very _hard person to find, Legolas," the voice said.  The elf prince's heart stopped as he listened more closely. 

      He could hear the jaunty smile in Elrohir's voice.  "Or should I say Leland, _mellon-nin_? Call me at this number please.  Fabulous, invention, this caller I.D." He paused, "Oh and um.  Hm.  If this really is Detective Leland Greene who has no connection whatsoever with this certain buddy of mine, kindly ignore."  The message ended.

TO BE CONTINUED…

MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL WHO READ AND ALL WHO REVIEWED!!!

THANKS TO: Platy, Tsurug-chan, Templa Otmena, Barbara, Elliroc, Sabrina, Tychen, Aranna Undomiel, Lady of the Twilight Woods, LOTRFAith, Star-Stallion, Joee1, Ainu Laire, Lady Laswen, ShadowHeart6, specialfeel, Kirsten (thank you for recommending me, I'm honored.  And if you do get around to a translation, I'm sure you'd do a great job :)) and Chris :)

The Next chapter will see our three elves getting together for some latte!

'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	3. Walking a Dream

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

3: Walking a Dream

Los Angeles, Early 2004

      Legolas found the twin sons of Elrond seated upon a table next to a window of the hotel coffee shop where they agreed to meet.  The white rays of the morning sun played with the indulgent cream lace curtains, casting the pair of elves in an even more glorious glow.  They looked like a dream to him, _unrealistic_.  He's not seen an elf in centuries.

      Elladan wore his hair much shorter and less conspicuous than his twin, just a little over his shoulders.  The more boldly stylish Elrohir let stray strands of his hair fall in artlessly graceful layers that framed his face while the rest he pulled back in a loose ponytail.  Legolas noted with some surprise that Elrohir did not bother to conceal his elvish ears as Elladan and Legolas did, either with their hair or with these fancy and utterly _lovable_ modern synthetic rubber pieces that concealed the pointed tips, if not the length of their elvish ears.

      _I am walking a dream_, Legolas decided, noting that Lord Elrond's sons were garbed not in the indulgent robes he was so used to seeing them in, but in faded designer _jeans_ and _polo shirts_ and… and… and _normal, street… things_!

      He stepped toward them and read from their eyes that they were immersed in similar thoughts about him.  After all, he realized, he must look drastically different too.  He trimmed his hair a bit, and it was as patrician and conservative as his vanity allowed, he reflected.  Garbed in a subdued pair of gray slacks, a knit sweater… he laughed in surprise, almost embarrassed by what must have been a seemingly sudden change, though it was undoubtedly one that was molded by the evolution of fashions that stretched through generation after generation.

      The three 'men' caught many an eye.  They looked like brothers, with their noble brows and their sharp eyes and just this old, affluent, polished air that they shared.

      "Detective," Elladan greeted him warmly, rising to his feet and shaking the hand of his old friend.  Legolas grinned at him and turned to Elrohir.

      "Ears," Legolas said simply, chuckling with some surprise.

      "When people ask," the elf replied with a wink, "I tell them it's genetic.  You know this new drive for political correctness keeps people from inquiring further, if they inquire at all.  Sometimes, I tell people I'm a performance artist.  If they get on my nerves, I have this lengthy cock and bull story about how the stratification in society compels us to listen to other people with sharper ears."

      "Cock and bull story?" Legolas asked him wryly, sliding into a seat.  A waiter handed him a menu and discreetly stepped away.

      "Don't be a menace, Elrohir," Elladan advised his brother mildly, "You know the idealistic Detective Greene is still walking the streets with an eye toward changing the world."

      "You could hardly call me a pessimist, brother," Elrohir admonished him, "I'm simply realistic.  It's just unfortunate that the circumstances these two outlooks speak of are remarkably similar."

      "You've sent us along a merry chase, _mellon-nin_," Elladan told Legolas, "It really was terrible of you not to have called upon us.  How long have you been back?"

      Legolas frowned in thought.  He left the mortal world the year Elessar died, sailing for the elven haven of Valinor with Gimli the dwarf.  The years passed slowly there, and though for awhile he found his peace, the death of Gimli and the years that followed it were fraught with restless frustrations.  He never was quite as complacent as the other elves, he was just _too fiery_.  The sea called for him to return from where it was he came, much as it called to him to get to where he already was.  The wanderlusting was persistent.  His fruitless wanderings about the theoretical haven and his palpable loneliness bought for him a passage back to the lands that he loved.  Although it was a courtesy often not granted and hardly ever requested, he was allowed back to Middle-Earth, back into the circles of the world, that he may at last see for himself precisely where he belonged, that he may cease to wonder, that he may find his peace (_or resignation_…).  

      "I returned and it was around 1580," Legolas replied thoughtfully, "I've been busy since."

      "That would be about right," Elrohir murmured.

      "How did you know of my return?" Legolas asked them.  The twins, unlike him, never left Middle-Earth.  The face of the land changed with the ages, continents shifted, thrones changed hands, governments changed forms.  Yet they remained, witnesses to the formation of life as it was presently known.  Returning in the 16th century of the conventional human calendar was like running into a maelstrom.  Legolas literally did not know where to find them.  He did not know how to find _anything_! However, because he was always resilient, he made a successful life for himself.

      "Elladan is in love!" Elrohir exclaimed excitedly, receiving a jab from his twin.  "Oh but it's true," Elrohir continued almost obliviously, "She is just incidentally a troublemaker too."

      "Not that I am disinterested," Legolas laughed, "But what does that have to do with my question?"

      "It was she who found you," Elladan said gravely, handing Legolas the photographs and correspondence he borrowed from Anatalia.

      Legolas stared at Elladan for a moment, his expression and tone making the Mirkwood prince frown with worry.  He accepted the offerings warily, and looked down upon the papers with a measure of dread.

      Elladan and Elrohir watched their old friend's face.  Memories danced and shifted across his eyes as he looked through the images of what had undoubtedly been a rather colorful life.

      'I do not even have any of these myself,' Legolas murmured, unconsciously slipping into his native tongue.  He raised up the oldest sketch. 

      'I was sailing from the west and these Englishmen were sailing _to_ the west, toward America, the New World.' he confided, 'There was a storm.  I was told Manwe was not necessarily angry… just that the winds will bring me where I needed to go.' He smiled wryly, 'I was disinclined to believe, of course, after my great ship shattered.  Either way, I was found by this English ship sailing to the Americas.  I befriended the fatherly first mate of the ship, Mr. Bradley Davenport.  He died shortly afterward… a skirmish with one of the less friendly tribes in the New World.  His dying breath was spent asking me to look after his family.  I was pressed to say yes, of course, though he could not have known that to me it meant _more_ than a lifetime of service to keep my word.'

      Legolas placed the photograph down.  'He was a good man.  All his family was, as if honor, nobility and greatness were hereditary.  I cannot deem my time wasted serving and protecting them.'

      Elrohir peered at the Mirkwood elf.  Naturally there was sadness.  Curiously, there was some guilt too.

      'My duties ended with the deaths of the last heirs,' Legolas said with a wince, 'I could not have been there.  The wars took us different ways.  I had no control over assignments of course, and I could only tell myself that as long as I served in the same war that the Davenports were fighting, I ultimately still do redeem my word.  They were survived by a woman named Francine.  I left England after she died.'

      'And here you are,' Elrohir said wistfully.

      "Here we all are," Legolas smiled, shifting back to Westron.

      "Indeed," Elladan agreed, looking at Legolas closely, "You look well, _mellon-nin_.  It is so good to see a familiar face that _is not_ Elrohir's."

      "Now tell me about this woman," Legolas said with shining eyes, "She must be quite the prize to have lured you from your quiet lives."

      "She's Italian," Elrohir answered for his brother, "With this fantastic accent, I'm sure.  I'm also certain she's a gem even if I've not yet met her because Elladan won't let me come near her.  You know how it is, he's very afraid she'd prefer me."

      "No," Elladan laughed, "I'm afraid she'd want to steer clear away from me after she's met my only family."

      The exchange was interrupted by the sound of a ringing cell phone.  Both Legolas and Elladan fished for theirs from within their pockets, but Elrohir sat calmly and waited for the best time to _strike_…

      His quick hands lashed out just as Elladan drew out his mobile, and he answered the call for his brother.

      Legolas chuckled and pocketed his phone.  Elladan shook his head in dismay and told the Mirkwood elf that _obviously_, his delinquent brother's been so bored with his years that he's devised all sorts of ridiculous activities to keep himself occupied.

      "Hello," Elrohir greeted, his eyes lighting up, "_Ana_, is it?... No, this is his brother… ummhmm…" he raised his eyebrow at Elladan, "Oh he didn't tell you, did he? Well I'd keep him a secret too if I could."

      'Give me that,' Elladan grabbed the cell phone and excused himself, rising from the table hurriedly.  Elrohir looked after him with amusement.

      "I wouldn't take offense," Legolas advised the Rivendell elf, "Elladan was merely protecting you by not exposing you as he was exposing himself."

      Elrohir shrugged, "I'm hardly offended, _mellon-nin_.  _She _sounded so, however.  You know what they say… if a man was thinking in the long-run with you, toward a serious life together, he introduces you to his family, he keeps no secrets… all these Doctor Phil stuff.  She is profoundly displeased that he keeps such things from her."

      "Things were never this complicated," Legolas said with a slight smile.  Elrohir watched him wryly as the Mirkwood prince motioned for a waiter and ordered what was, for all intents and purposes, a cup of over-glorified coffee hidden beneath a mouthful of words like _latte_, _low-fat_, _with a twist_ of this and that and _decaffeinated too…_

      "So," Legolas said, looking at his old friend, "You found me.  What are your plans?"

      Elrohir shrugged.  "Nothing really.  It was just a curious, irresistible thing.  And I'd advise you to keep a lower profile, _mellon-nin_." He winced, "Elladan's lady love plans to write a book."  
      "Is he ever to tell her the truth?" Legolas asked.

      "He's testing the waters," Elrohir replied, "He's already taken her to Imladris.  I suppose just now I forced him into the next step, that is, to know me.  If she is all that my brother could love, I believe we can count on her discretion if he ever does get around to telling her the truth."

      "Imladris still stands?" Legolas asked, his brows rising.

      "Yes," Elrohir answered with pleasure, "Much diminished, I guarantee you.  All these real estate laws, the wars… The land is lesser, but then again there is less of us to occupy it.  You must visit.  The main house is virtually untouched, although… I could not resist a television set."

      Legolas smiled, delighted at the idea of things that have been left roughly unchanged in the old paradise of his younger years.  "I think I will visit, one of these days."

      "It's in Vienna," Elrohir informed him, "the face of the land's changed."

      "I know," Legolas said, pausing before he asked, "Elrohir… do you ever think of sailing away?"

      "Of course," the Rivendell elf replied, "Not a day goes by that I do not.  'Tis still an option open to us, for sure.  There's old literature in Rivendell of building these fantastic ships to bear us away.  And now… there's you too; you've made a few.  But I find I still hesitate."  
      "So do I," Legolas admitted quietly, "A strange feeling holds me here, though I often wonder if I am just being stubborn.  Perhaps I refuse to grow up.  Or perhaps there really is a destiny that binds me here."

      Elrohir rubbed at his chin, narrowing his eyes in thought.  "There are still some answers that you seek."

      "Naturally," Legolas said haltingly, wondering where this was leading.

      "Would you want to know what became of Estel's line?" Elrohir asked him.

      "It's why you stayed," Legolas concluded after a moment of thought.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to know… when he returned, he heard of no such great kingdom of Gondor, or Arnor.  It was a line that faded into dim legend, as if their deeds and who they were were trivial and not worthy of remembrance.  It hurt to see things in this light.

      "Yes," Elrohir replied, "His heirs and descendants numbered greatly.  Though governments have changed with the times, the line survives.  Scattered all across Europe, some even migrated to America.  Untraceable by now, of course, but the line is not lost.  His blood still runs in this Earth.  I suspect it always will."

      "Hm," Legolas said sadly, averting his eyes and watching Elladan walk back toward them, masking his sadness with his wry tone, "We never could be rid of him."

      "You're giving me unnecessary problems," Elladan said to his brother as he reclaimed his seat.  _As if I didn't have enough…_ 

      The waiter arrived with Legolas' fare and the elf prince smiled with the scent of the coffee.

      'How fares our family in Valinor?' Elladan asked Legolas.

      'My news is much outdated, mind,' Legolas replied with a smile, 'But they were doing well.  Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian were still overjoyed with their reunion, even if I arrived years after the fact.'

      'Do they not miss us at all?' Elrohir asked with mock offense, though he amended his tone and added, 'I am vastly relieved, I must admit.  It is good that they are happy.  The temptation to follow soon and see this family together once again is even greater now.  But it will make _ada_ miss Arwen more, won't it?'

      'We'll all be together again, someday,' Elladan said wistfully.

      '_Someday_,' Legolas echoed, 'Does it not sound so distant? Hopeful, but distant.  And vague.'

      'Sounds like something Estel would say,' Elrohir added.

      For some reason, Elladan's cheeks flushed.  "You mean it sounds vague?"

      "Yes," Legolas replied, "Why?"

      "Would women think so as well?" he asked.

      "They knew long before we did," Elrohir replied wryly, "What in the world did you say to _her_?"

      "She asked when she could meet you," Elladan answered, "I said, 'soon.'  She said her father wishes to meet me.  I said…"

      "Someday," Legolas concluded with a laugh.

      "I won't have a sister-in-law until the next century," Elrohir sighed melodramatically, "You know, brother, the _edain_ don't have lives as long as ours! You really must get a move on."

      "What in the world could one say to that? Meet her parents!" Elladan pointed out.

      "I would have said," Elrohir replied jauntily, "'Yes of course, I'd be _delighted_ to meet your family! As soon as I return from America.'  And then return after three or four years." 

TO BE CONTINUED…

Thanks to all who read and to my reviewers: Cotume, Idle Mind, Nikki1, Starlit Hope, Tychen (actually, I decided not to go into detail with the medical stuff 'cos I don't know much about it, haha.  And the Davenports are just catalysts right now, unless some weird inspiration strikes me :)), Elessar-Lover, Silvertongue, dd9736, Pethron, ShadowHeart 6, Stoneage Woman, Aranna Undomiel, Star-Stallion, Tsurugi-chan, Barbara Kennedy, elfchic02, Lady of the Twilight Woods, Elliroc, Jule, dragonfly, Lady Eleclya, InkaCaijo, Ainu Laire, Lady Laswen, Platy, Templa Otmena, hyper-health-critic, LOTRFaith, Rae132, Deana and Joee1.

Next post will be two chapters, and watch out for the return of a much-beloved king…

'TIL THEN!!!


	4. InLaws

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

4: In-Laws

(_Elladan__)_

Milan, Mid-2004

      The three old friends took their leave of each other over work and business.  And, Elladan supposed, over love too.  He supposed he did indeed have things to make up for—all his secrets, coupled with the admittedly faulty use of the word 'someday…' Anatalia definitely had a bargaining chip, and he decided to step forward rather than risk losing her.  And so it was that he left Legolas, who was anyway pressed for time of his own, having to attend to his consuming work in America, and Elrohir back home in Austria, and he found himself in Italy, waiting before the door of a fantastic home in the city as anxiously as if he was awaiting Judgment Day. 

      _The_ Craxi mogul met the couple at the door.  His was a built that was imposing, even if he did stand a head shorter than Elladan.  Stocky, heavy.  The years were kind to his handsomely dark features, which were carefully aged.  His hair was almost artistically grayed just here and there, looking flattering rather than old. 

      _His eyes are like Ana's_, Elladan realized at once.  There was spirit there, and fire.  But while Anatalia's eyes shone with her love, her father's eyes shone with a mad suspicion that could have been daunting to any of his daughter's suitors, even if they were, say, several ages old and have already faced up to the just-as mad glare of an uruk-hai…

      "Good evening sir," Elladan greeted him with a smile.

      "Call me Marcelo," the man said gruffly, shaking the elf's hand _just a bit too tightly_…

      "You must be Eddie," Marcelo said quickly, "I've heard many things about you—"

      "Papa!" Anatalia exclaimed disapprovingly, turning to Elladan, "He is pulling your leg.  He knows very well who you are."  She breathed relief when her mother appeared just behind her father.

      "Let them in, Marcelo!" the hostess exclaimed, pushing her way forward and smiling at Elladan, "I like the look of you."

      The elf laughed in surprise. 

      "This is as much torture for you as it is for me," Anatalia said to him wryly, but her eyes were shining again and Elladan found great reason to be standing where he was.

      "A pleasure, ma'am," he said, nodding at the lady of the house.  She took him by the hand and pulled him toward her as she pressed kisses of greetings upon his cheeks.

      "Call me _mama_," she told him.

      "No!" laughed Ana, "No, no.  No one's going to do that.  Do not scare him, mama! Call her Giovanna."

      "That's right," Marcelo added.

      Elladan looked at the three Craxis and decided it was going to be a long night.  Anatalia took his hand and pulled him in, and he decided it was nevertheless going to be a good one.

" " "

      Elladan easily saw where Anatalia gleaned her passion for historical art.  The house was stock-full of some of the best collections he's ever seen.  Paintings, sculptures, books… the post-dinner tour was jumpstarted by Ana telling her parents that art was a passion her beau shared with them. 

      "Look," Giovanna said with a slight smile, pointing to a canvas.  "16th century.  Do you recognize it?"

      Elladan knew the piece with some dread.  Curious how life was unfolding before him, how things could come together in such an awful manner…

      "Vecellini," Elladan replied with a wan smile, hoping they would _completely_ miss the fact that his blasted twin brother was part of an ensemble who actually _posed_ for the great artist thousands of years ago…

      "Looks like you," Ana said with a laugh, pointing to Elrohir.  "Handsome, isn't he?"

      _Oh he would be so glad to hear that_… he sighed inwardly, _thank the Valar he was not foolish enough to have posed for a nude!_

      Giovanna studied her prospective son-in-law's face more closely.  "Oh he does indeed look like that fellow! You have an ancestral estate in Vienna, yes?"

      "Yes, ma'am," Elladan replied, thinking, _and Vecellini lived awhile in __Austria_, _I know…_

      "This is very exciting," Giovanna smiled, "Perhaps you are a descendant of this model.  Isn't that exciting?"

      "I shall look into our family archives," Elladan said.

      "They have an expansive library," Anatalia told her parents.

      "They have an expansive lot of things," Marcelo pointed out.  Giovanna was favoring him with the evil eye every overburdened mother and wife was thankfully equipped with, but the man would not be deterred.  "You have an impressive portfolio, sir.  One wonders how you keep your assets and your lavish lifestyle even if you are unemployed.  Impressive indeed."

      "And you have an impressive investigator, sir," Elladan replied coolly.  He was never one to be cowed.  The impertinent man was invoking all the defiant royal out of him.

      "What exactly do you do for a living, apart from being idle and rich?" Marcelo continued, pretending not to have heard what Elladan just said, but was obviously bristling at the tone and what was admittedly an invasion on his part.

      Anatalia looked at Elladan expectantly; though her father was being an embarrassment, she's been trying to discover the same thing herself.

      "You pair of fools," Giovanna muttered under her breath, "Not in my house, take it outside."

      "They have nothing to take outside," Anatalia said with a pointed glare at the two men, "Nothing at all."

      Elladan managed a strained smile for Giovanna.  "I apologize."

" " "

      The night progressed with no greater incident, though as the handsome pair stepped from the doors of the grand home at the end of the evening, Elladan knew he'd have to contend with a few more challenges this night, and likely harsher ones from the _other_ tough Craxi in his company.

      "What _do_ you do for a living, _signore_?" Anatalia asked him, her eyes stern, "A man of mystery can only be attractive for so long."  
      "Am I boring you?" he asked her, desperate to make light of the conversation.

      "Do not play with me," she told him, "Or if you have been playing all this while, I beg you please to stop."

      "I do not play with you," he said earnestly.

      "Tell me then," she dared, "Are you a psycho-killer? Are you _mafia_? I do not think you are a ghost.  What are you, Elladan? Who are you? Why so many secrets?"

      He stared at her for a long moment, as the pair of them walked the quiet streets of the evening. 

      "I come from an old, noble line," he said, deciding on not lying about _this_, at least, "Titles that were kept quiet by the years, but with quite an arsenal of assets, many of which were wisely concealed, wisely invested.  That amount of cash, and gold and jewels in the right placements, compounded by the years… let us say I can live all my life in luxury, all my children and their children too.  I am very lucky to be able to do everything that I want without having to work for it."

      "But what is it that you want?" she asked.

      His lips quirked.  "If you do not know the answer to that… you are not as clever as you think you are."

      "You are trying to distract me," she said, though her lips were quirking and he knew that he was succeeding.  He pulled her against him and pressed a silencing kiss upon her lips.

      "That trick might work for now," she told him breathlessly, her eyes smoky with her desires, "Oh, but one day, Elladan, I swear you shall unfold before me."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Thanks to all who read and to my reviewers: Princess of Legends, Kit Cloudkicker, ShadowHeart6, Joee1, Eile igen Briain, Lady Laswen, Lady Eleclya, Aranna Undomiel, Yavannie Leaves, dragonfly, Linaeve, LOTRFaith, Star-Stallion, Templa Otmena, Stoneage Woman, Tsurugi-Chan, Lady of the Twilight Woods, Landorie and Barbara Kennedy :)


	5. Never Again

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

5: Never Again

_(Legolas)_

Los Angeles, Mid-2004

      He missed those old walkie-talkies.  The two-way digital radios were a mess of complications, and were often easily scrambled by clever, criminal minds, possibly by those that he was pursuing.  He hated to think he could not reach his partner for a graver reason…

      "Montes!" Legolas called upon his partner for the nth time, and he was once again met with no reply.  He barely broke his stride as he slid the communication device from within the folds of his plainclothes. 

      The job was supposed to be routine; some officers had called in for their expertise after a young man went down in a hail of gunfire from a drive-by.  He and his partner stopped by the crime scene for an investigation, but some nervous, jerky adolescent caught Rafael Montes' expert eye, and as he made a step toward the teenager hovering around the scene, the kid broke into a frantic run. 

      Legolas was still in the middle of conferring with witnesses when he noted that his partner was gone, and that his despicable device was making warbling noises.  It was more because of his elven senses than the gifts of modern technology that he managed to put together the general direction of pursuit.

      His running brought him into a narrow road lined by buildings and heavily shaded from the light of the hot afternoon sun, and he felt his heart jolt at the sight of his partner's body crumpled upon the ground.

      "Montes!" he exclaimed, sprinting forward.  He was almost to his friend's form when a hand lashed out from one of the alleys that separated one building from another.  Claw-like hands formed a death-grip upon his right arm, inhumanly fast and insistent.  He was pulled into the darkness of the alley, just as a bullet zipped into the wall right where his head had been.

      Heart pounding, adrenalin burning through him, he whipped to face his attacker/savior, pointing his gun at… at…

      He squinted his eyes against the dark.  The old man before him had clear eyes that were wise, and calm, and penetrating.  His white hair was snowy in the few spots it was not liberally adorned with dust and soot.  His clothes were old, and battered.  He did not seem to have much, and could have easily passed for just another hapless, homeless man on the street, save for the nobility entrenched into those eyes.

      Legolas opened his mouth to say something.  _Gandalf!,_ would have been a nice way to begin that intriguing conversation, except more gunshots sounded, and Legolas had to turn away from the old man to face a more pressing situation.

      He narrowed his eyes in thought, falling into a cautious stance with his gun poised before him at the ready.  By the sounds and angles of the shots fired, he knew just where to aim his own gun. 

      'Stay out of sight, Mithrandir,' he advised the old man, unknowingly slipping into his elven tongue, pushing him against the wall for his own protection.  After assuring himself that 'Gandalf' was reasonably out of harm's way, he took careful sight of his prey, situated by one of the second-floor windows of the nearby building.  A single shot from his gun silenced the alley, and he ran forward and fell to his knees before his fallen friend.

      Pale, graceful hands reached hungrily and urgently for Rafe's neck.  Blood pooled on the ground and soaked the injured detective's clothes so much that Legolas feared he arrived too late.

      "Blast you, Greene," the man drawled, "I'm alive, I'm alive.  Don't do that, it makes me feel like a corpse."

      Legolas chuckled nervously as he fished for his cellphone and called for an ambulance. 

      "Remember when I got shot a few years back?" Legolas asked him mildly, willing for him to stay awake, "My eyes were open, and I was talking to you, and you were still fishing for my pulse."

      "That's called, love, brother," Rafael groaned, trying to shift his position.  He winced at the movement.

      "Stay still," Legolas scolded him, "Help arrives soon."

      "You all right?" Montes asked, looking at him searchingly, "I think the bastard left me out here and waited for you."

      "He did," Legolas said, looking away from his partner and out toward the alley where he left the old man who had saved his life.  He was disappointed, but not surprised to find him gone.

      "Well aren't you a lucky dog," Montes murmured, beginning to drift as the reassuring sounds of sirens began to fill the air and near them.

      _I'm not so sure_, Legolas thought to himself, wondering if he was losing his mind, and knowing that if he was sane instead, and the man he had seen was indeed Gandalf, well… _the Istari do not get sent into Arda to take care of a minor peace and order situation._

      "I'm beginning to think," Montes told his partner wearily, "Like you have fifty million lives or something."

      _Don't you know it_, Legolas sighed, stepping back upon the arrival of the emergency medical technicians.  Distractedly, he strolled to the alley he left Gandalf in.  It was dark, and narrow, and had an opening in the other end.  He was tempted to follow and search for the old man, but he was worried about his wounded friend and was anxious to follow to the hospital.

      _Besides_, he thought wistfully_, If the old man is who I think he is, he will be turning up again soon_.

" " "

      "I know we agreed that if Montes died you'd marry me," Julianna said of her husband, "But I won't hold you to it."

      Legolas' lips curved in an appreciative smile.  The woman beside him was formidable, worthy at the very least of his good friend.  Her frame was lithe, like a dancer's, and her face had a subtle, quiet beauty.  She seemed so delicate and doll-like, especially beside her imposing hulk of a husband.  But the woman had a thick head on those wiry shoulders, and Legolas was glad for her strength. 

      "I didn't think you would," he told her evenly. 

      She arrived some hours ago, and the pair of them was manning a waiting room.  He remembered her shaky but determined voice over the phone after he informed her of the situation, her uncertain smile of greeting as she breezed into the room to wait with him.  She rushed forward to embrace him, stopped short at the sight of her husband's blood on his soiled clothes for the blink of an eye, but anyway enfolded him in her arms.

      "Leland.  Oh, are _you_ all right?" she had asked, and he managed a surprised laugh, finding the question a bit ironic.  The wait for his partner to come out from surgery has been as pleasurable as possible given the context since.

      "What's taking them so long?" Legolas asked impatiently, "The wound was not that serious.  I saw for myself."

      "I don't mind the wait," she said evenly, "As long as they take the best care of him."

      "Indeed," Legolas agreed, sighing and reigning in his temper, "Where are the children?"

      "The little monsters?" she laughed a little, "My darlings are at my sister's.  They took the news relatively well.  But I did promise them Rafe was going to be all right."

      "I'm sure that's the case," Legolas assured her, paused in thought before asking, "And how is Dianne?"

      "Hm," she smirked at him, "She's sour at you, you handsome devil.  But then again you really ought to know that.  My sister expected you to call after your first date."

      "It was not a date," Legolas clarified, "_You_ and Montes set me up.  I was an unwitting party!"

      "Oh but really, Leland," she said, "You should start to settle down.  People are supposed to have a life outside of work too."

      Her cellphone rang, and she rose and excused herself for a moment, saying Montes' mother was on the line. 

      Legolas watched her step out into the corridor, before leaning his head against the wall that was behind the couch.  He stank of blood, but he was not keen on leaving until he was assured Rafael was well.  He closed his eyes for a long moment.  He's not smelled so much and so long of someone else's blood since… since… well, since the Second World War. 

      _I am so old…_

And as if he did not have enough to contend with, he had to deal with crazy, happy married couples trying to similarly ensnare him.

      Quiet footsteps caught his attention, and he quickly rose to his feet and turned to the doctor standing by the door, still wearing his surgical greens.  The man was well-built, with staring silver eyes and an assuring smile on his clean-shaven, sculpted face, framed by dark brown whorls of hair. 

      _If you weren't so _clean_, _Legolas thought fleetingly, inanely, _I could have sworn you were—_

      For the second time that day, Legolas' jaws could have dropped to the floor and headed on straight down to the core of the Earth. 

      _Estel_.

      "Are you with Rafael Montes?" the doctor asked him pleasantly.  Even the sound of his voice mirrored that unforgettable musical tone of the ages-old and ages-dead _adan_. 

      Legolas blinked at him, trying to find some form of ground.  The world was toying with him.  In the span of a few months he's come across the twin sons of Elrond, a Gandalf-hobo and now, this Estel-incarnation too.

      The doctor pressed a warm hand upon the elf's shoulders, trying to relax him but making things much worse.  The familiar grip was unforgettable.  Legolas knew the feeling of that warm hand in his sleep.  The elf haltingly backed away a step, and the doctor frowned at him worriedly.

      "Are you all right, sir?" the doctor asked, "You look pale…"

      "I'm fine," Legolas told him quickly, shaking his head as if to clear it.  "I'm sorry.  Yes, yes.  I'm with Rafael Montes.  He's my partner."

      "Oh," said the doctor, a moment before his eyes widened in understanding (_or misunderstanding_), "Ohhh.  I see.  Well.  He's doing wonderfully.  You can have him home with you in a few days."  
      Legolas blinked at him in some confusion, before it dawned on him that the man was making a rather horrid mistake.  He felt his face warm.  "No.  I mean _no_.  I meant, we work together."

      "Ah," the man's brows rose, "I apologize."  
      Julianna—_bless her_, Legolas thought—picked that moment to re-enter the room.

      "She's his wife," Legolas said quickly.

      "Rafael's other partner," she said with an effortless smile on her face, having heard the exchange.  Julianna stepped forward and claimed the doctor's healing hands.  "Tell me good news."

" " "

      It being that Rafael Montes was guaranteed a quick recovery, Legolas found it in himself to think of his own pressing troubles.  What did all these things mean?

      Rafe was still asleep when he entered the private room.  He decided to let Julianna have her privacy, and stepped back out into the waiting room, trailing the doctor who had Estel's uncanny face.

      "The drugs will keep him down for a few hours more, you know," 'Estel' said to him, "You can go home and freshen up.  You _should._"

      Legolas took a moment to simply stare at the man. 

      _What are you doing here…?_

      Indeed, did Elrohir and Elladan not say that Aragorn's kin grew wide and extended far? He should not have been surprised to find one had migrated to America.  But to run across him… it was nothing short of a miracle.  And to run across him the very day he ran across 'Gandalf…' surely it spelled nothing short of some impending disaster!

      _Or perhaps coincidence_?

      He could not find it in himself to believe that.  The Istari never appeared at random, for one thing.  And though he often had dreams of once again reclaiming old dead friends in some weird reincarnation, he knew through the years that the gods were not quite as generous or, perhaps, did not indulge their children's trivial wishes. 

      _If we are all here, together, in this time_, he knew in his heart, _it is for a purpose that is great_.

      People were never randomly thrown together, he understood that.  And especially, _most especially_, not the likes of them. 

      His world was spinning.  But why were they here? And why now? And what was he supposed to do?

      _Maybe it's all a coincidence…_

_      I hope it's all a coincidence_.

      "Do you want some coffee?" the doctor asked him.  The brows were wrinkled in thought and worry, and the silver eyes were raking across his face in a fervent and unhidden effort of ascertaining if he was all right.

      _Just like Estel_.

      "I'm Leland Greene," Legolas said, offering his hand to shake, "I'm a detective in the LAPD.  I'm sorry if I seem distracted.  It's just… work."

      _Just not of the sort you may think…_

The doctor smiled.  "That is perfectly understandable, lieutenant.  Call me Adrian."

      _Indeed_, Legolas thought darkly, _I'll call you whatever you want, _mellon-nin_.  It doesn't matter.  You're not you and I'm not me…_

      "Adrian, yes," Legolas forced himself to smile, "Yes, thank you for taking good care of my friend.  That coffee sounds great, thank you."

      "It's from the vending machine," Adrian said to him wryly as the two men walked together, "Do not thank me yet."

      "I got it," Legolas offered, fishing for coins in his pockets. 

      "Nah," Adrian said, beating him to the slots, "Don't worry, I'll add it to the service charges to the government."

      The _adan_ was looking at him expectantly, and he smiled in response.  In truth, the attempted levity was driving him insane.  The man even had the same irreverent sense of humor as Aragorn.

      The doctor handed Legolas a cup.

      "_Hannon le_," Legolas said, on a whim, watching the expressions that crossed the other's face intensely, wanting a sign, wanting some remembrance, wishing some fiber of that bloodline knew _him_ still…

      "I guess that's a 'thank you,'" said Adrian with a pleasant expression on his face, his movements undeterred as he grabbed another cup of coffee for himself, "I thought you sounded British or something, but I guess you're from like from some other place, huh?"  
     

      _Nothing_, Legolas concluded, knowing he's not been forgotten, he was never known at all.  The man before him had Estel's face, Estel's wit.  But he was not Estel himself.  No one ever would be again.

      "You could say that," Legolas said quietly.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	6. For Every Evil

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

6: For Every Evil

The World Wide Web

From: LelandGreene aol. com

To: Elrohir Seriously Rocks hotmail. com, Elladan hotmail. com

Subject: Some unexpected encounters

Date: Fri, 20 Aug 2004 00:10:48 EDT

      I really do not know where to begin.  My friends… in those times you've met his descendants, however did you manage to look upon Estel's face and not find him there, and not have him know you?

      Your brows raise, I can picture it.  You start to wonder what it is… _who_ it is I may have found that pushes me to ask these questions suddenly.  Indeed, I have found his face, but he has not found me.

      A doctor named Adrian Aarons works in a hospital here.  Do not worry, I did not find this out the hard way (_i.e._ _getting shot_).  You did say Estel's descendants are many and have decided to go international and plague the rest of the world.  I suppose I just find it… _strange_, to say the least.  I've lived in great reserve all these years, all these _centuries_, and this is the first time since I saw him sleep to the last of his breaths that my eyes fell upon his face.

      Have you encountered his other descendants recently? Do they all look like him? How does Estel look like as a woman? Does Arwen resemble any of them? Do you know where they've all gone?

      I ask because I wonder, if this is just some random occurrence; I've stayed in Arda this long I was bound to run across some relative of his somewhere.  But then… is it a sign?

      Some days ago, I ran into a homeless old man who looked disturbingly like Mithrandir.  Am I going insane? Have you come across similarly strange encounters? What do you think?

      My friends… I am glad you found me.  I would otherwise be at a loss.  I can speak to no one else of these things.  Write me soon.

--Legolas

" " "

From: Elladan hotmail. com

To: LeelandGreene aol. com, Elrohir Seriously Rocks hotmail. com

Subject: [Re:] Some unexpected encounters

Date: Sat, 21 Aug 2004 00:11:18 EDT

      Elrohir once said that, along the years, the _edain_ have managed to invent a single word to encase the direness of situations such as yours: it's called _shit._

I prefer to call it _trouble_.  The Istari never appear at random, _mellon-nin_, we all know this.  Have you spoken with him? What did he say? Do you need us there? Are you absolutely certain it was him?

      To answer your question, Estel's descendants numbered so greatly that after awhile, we only kept track of the first sons, in that we may at least safeguard some part of his line.  But we do not give them some great-great-grandfatherly visits, if you wonder.  We watch them grow from the outside, as we must keep ourselves from the prying eyes of this changed world.

      I do not believe this is coincidence, though Elrohir and I are yet to have strange events about us.  Perhaps it is by virtue of you having been in the Fellowship.  I am a bit anxious to see what this is all about.  The world is different… the weapons are greater, and quicker, and… and… I pray we shall not be faced with a similar evil as those we've once felled.

      As for your other question, I have seen Estel's face on a woman.  The line is inalienably beautiful, even _that_.  And I have seen Arwen's likeness too… it breaks my heart and all at once strengthens it.  My sister is still immortal in this sense after all.

      Such events are understandably hard… perhaps it is why Elrohir and I have backed away, aside from practical reasons.  But these encounters of yours… especially this case with Mithrandir… one wonders what the Vala have in store for us now.

-- Elladan

" " "

From: Elrohir Seriously Rocks hotmail. com

To: LelandGreene hotmail. com, Elladan hotmail. com

Subject: [Re:][Re:] Some unexpected encounters

Date: Sun 22 Aug 2004 00:08:11 EDT

      Ah, Legolas, how fortunate for you that Elladan is very prompt with replying to _you_.  Why, he's completely forgotten about me! You menacing old warg-rider, I've not heard from you in days, I feared Ana's father may have already done away with you (I looked him up… he looks like the Godfather)!

      You see, Legolas, the blasted elf is in Milan with his lady-love.  Squandering the family fortune in some fancy place over there (_was that not always my job?!_).  Or are you staying over at her place…? Nasty fellow.  Our mother, she will have your head. 

      Oh, you pair of fools.  You worry much too much.  If it is all coincidence, well and good, life goes on.  You can befriend the Estel-incarnation and have a curveball in that well-ordered life of yours, Legolas.  Honestly? Someone has to set fire to your tail.  However, if all this is geared toward some greater purpose… well, we shall move forward as is our duty.  As is our destiny.  In this case I can view the situation more as hopeful, rather than, well, _shitty_.  The way I see it, having us all together at the very precipice of some new world-altering evil is a blessing.  It means that for every evil that rises, the gods give us ways to defeat it.  You know what people say nowadays.  God gives you rain but he also gives you the tools to make an umbrella.  Or something like that.

--Elrohir

" " "

From: LelandGreene aol. com

To: Elrohir Seriously Rocks hotmail. com, Elladan hotmail. com

Subject: [Re:][Re:][Re:] Some unexpected encounters

Date: Mon, 22 Aug 2004 00:09:56 EDT

      My friends, I am going to do something wildly unprecedented. I am going to take a leave of absence.

      My mind is going in circles, I cannot think straight.  Some nights ago I found myself prowling the streets in search of a homeless old _Istar_, for the Valar's sake, I'm losing my mind.  I did not succeed, so I focused my attentions virtually _stalking_ Adrian Aarons—old habits die hard, I suppose.  I remember how it felt like every time I took my eyes off Estel… it always made me nervous, wondering what in the world kind of brand new magnificently terrible strait he'd get into without my watchful eye.

      He caught me once, and he looked at me as if I was manic, but he had an easy way about him, and he said he remembered me from the hospital and asked if I was all right.  Embarrassing.  I said I saw him and wanted to catch up, because I had a health-related question.  I made up some silly old thing and he said I should see him in his office in a few days.  Of course I did not go, and I decided not to bother him for now.  He's stayed alive without me this long.

      Anyway, I've already expressed my intentions to my captain, who looked to me in this really silly way and asked me if I would kindly repeat what it was I said.  So I told him, I will close this latest case of mine, and then I will take a leave for a pair of months, which is just as well, since my partner is still recovering from some injuries and I do not want to disturb the duty rotations by being temporarily assigned to anyone else.

      And then he asked me if I was seriously ill.  Adrian Aarons gave him a call.  Are all of Estel's descendants nosy as well? Nevertheless, I simply told him, well, people take leaves all the time, don't they? And he pointed out that I've not taken a single day away for almost a decade, something grave must be going on, _did somebody die?!_

      Fair of him to be suspicious after all, I suppose.  But he let me do as I wished.  And so.  I've decided to spend my leave investigating this matter of Gandalf and Estel.  I could not in good conscience be thus distracted and have fates of others in my hands.  Although… I admit it was rather tempting to order our policemen to be on the lookout for a clear-eyed old homeless man.  Now I'm taking my leave and am therefore left to my own devices.  It is _so_ hard sometimes to do the right thing.

-- Legolas

" " "

To: LelandGreene hotmail. com, Elladan hotmail. com

Cc:

Bcc:

Subject: [Re:][Re:][Re:][Re:] Some unexpected encounters

      A leave, you say?! _Mellon-nin_, I have this most fantastic idea—

" " "

      Elrohir's fingers were sailing across the keyboard and yet they did not feel fast enough to contain his excitement.  Muttering a curse, he abandoned the effort of e-mail writing altogether and fished for his cellphone.

      "Legolas!" he exclaimed, when the elf in America answered just halfway through the first ring. 

      "Greene," Legolas said sternly, alertly, more out of habit than thought, for it took him a beat before he realized it was an old friend on the other line, rather than a call for some emergency or other.  "Elrohir!"  
      "_Mellon-nin_," Elrohir grinned to himself, "A leave, you say? Come to Imladris! Elladan, he has abandoned me!"

      Legolas laughed.  "I suppose I don't mind being called at three in the morning for so gracious an invitation."

      Elrohir winced.  He forgot all about that time-zone thing.  "Well you do not sleep anyway, so I won't apologize."

      "I will see you soon, _mellon-nin_," Legolas chuckled, "_Hannon le_."

TO BE CONTINUED…

THANKS to all who read and all who reviewed!!! This story is up to fourteen chapters by now, but I have so much trouble posting (some comp problems), I can't even see all of my reviews.  BUT I DO appreciate them and are so so THANKFUL :)

Next chapter sees Legolas visiting Imladris, and Elladan bringing in some other visitor as well…

'TIL THEN!!!


	7. Homecomings

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

7: Homecomings

Imladris

Viennna, Austria

Mid-2004

The clever BMW careened past the gates of the Rivendell estate. It was a disconcerting thing, to say the least, and Elrohir watched Legolas' face with an impish grin.

"Oh what did you expect, _mellon-nin_?" he asked, "I was to pick you up from the airport on a horse?"

Legolas smiled at the Rivendell elf. "The only thing that remained the same is you still drive like a crazy person."

"Aye," Elrohir laughed, "There is that."

Elrohir parked the car in front of the main doors. He often went straight for the opulent garage to the back of the main house, but his flair for the dramatic wanted to welcome Legolas back to Imladris with aplomb.

'It is mostly the same,' Legolas breathed in Elvish, 'You are sure you have television inside?'

'Yes,' Elrohir laughed, 'And electricity. And good plumbing. And computers and things. Come now, Legolas. Elves have always been at the cutting edge of technology, after all.'

'It's just that it's a whole other life altogether,' Legolas apologized, 'I'm sorry. I'm acting like that country mouse cousin, if you know what I mean.'

They left the car where it stood, and an Imladris majordomo's eyes lit up at the sight of Legolas. The Mirkwood prince did not recognize this elf, but he was very much known to the majordomo, who bowed low, murmuring, 'My lord.'

Elrohir gave the car keys for the elf to park the vehicle. In a low voice he said to Legolas, 'Oh he is hungry for company that is not me and Elladan, isn't he?'

'I do not remember him,' Legolas said, watching the elderly elf walk away.

'He is Halvor,' Elrohir said, 'and was not of the House in your heydays here. He is a manservant/valet/guardian/moral guide _ada_ left us with. A bit of a stickler for the rules, you could say."

'He is charged with looking after you pair of fools _and_ the upkeep of the estate?' Legolas asked, impressed.

'He has aid, of course,' Elrohir said wryly, 'He has a very discreet team of servants. You give him too much credit, prince Legolas. He'd be barely done with cleaning or mowing a tenth of the property before the part he began with starts growing again. We've grown smaller, but Imladris is not _that_ small.'

'He seems a bit… strange,' Legolas said diplomatically.

'He lived old-style like,' Elrohir replied, 'which is why he's going to be bowing down low every time he catches sight of you. I think he misses the older days, the grander days. At times I find I feel the same. But I like my life too.'

'As we all should,' Legolas smiled, 'You know I look about Imladris, and I wonder what has become of my own home.'

'Your realm was too large, prince,' Elrohir told him gently, 'It was divided into several kingdoms and states. The land's changed and shifted. Your kingdom now lies far north. You will find these to be the most competitive states in the world. In the GDP, per capita income sense.'

'It hurts to return sometimes,' Legolas reflected, 'But it is just as well. I was not counting in that my land remained mine; this world is no longer ours, I've yielded my rights long ago. I suppose I just… wondered. It's good that the land's fared well.'

'We've all fared well, eh?' Elrohir smirked.

'Yes,' Legolas smiled, and nodded. 'Fate's been extraordinarily kind.'

" " "

Legolas stared at the PS2 sitting on the floor, right above an opulent, hand-woven, well-preserved and ages-old elvish carpet. Beside it was a can of Coke light. The irreverence was making his skin crawl.

"It's just a toy, fool," Elrohir laughed, "Come on, you'd have fun. What the hell else do you do with your life, Legolas?"

"I work," the Mirkwood elf said wryly, "I've been working all my life, I think. I've been a soldier in all the wars the Davenports managed to get themselves into, and now a cop. I do not have a PS2, _mellon-nin_, I have a desk and a whole lot of sheaves of papers. What have you been doing all these years?"

"Taking care of the estate, of course," Elrohir replied, "Upkeep costs money, you know. Luckily, the principal of our placements is so high we need just a fraction of the interests to pay for taxes, electricity, water, _vices_, et cetera. But the investments still always have to be watched. Lots of clever white-collar criminals, nowadays, you know. The last war I saw, I was in the underground resistance. All my affairs have been more… _administrative_ since."

The pair of elves sat side by side before the entertainment system. Legolas mused that the lessons of the years regarding money was one that he too had a tight grasp of. The upscale condominium in Los Angeles was a testament to that-- not exactly in the pay-scale of a detective.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Elrohir asked him.

Legolas smiled wide; hearing those words in his native tongue was a curious experience. But movies he sincerely enjoyed. He remembered the first time he had ever seen one. Silent films in black and white. And then talkies. And the full-color musicals. And it went bigger and wider and better and grander. He remembered how the scale of the _Titanic _left him breathless in the spaces when the script did not make him feel awkward. Or seeing _The Matrix _and seeing all these people on Hong Kong wires floating in the air. The idea of… of… _catching_ reality, and, and _time_ itself in a box… if he had a video camera in the days that he considered his best… to look back and see old friends over and over…

"I've not seen one in awhile," he said gamely, "What do you have?"

" " "

They watched three; elves adored good art and beautiful things and things that lasted forever. Legolas supposed Elrohir found as much affinity for time-in-a-box as he did. And then they watched one of those audacious late night shows on cable. Leno was a very clever fellow. Amusing. What was more amusing though, that very likely, cables and satellites sat atop Imladris' winged roofs…

Dinner was served in the recreation room, and thereafter Halvor they excused for the evening. Legolas had butter popcorn all the way to his ears, but while he left Elrohir to his soda-addiction, he settled for bottles of Perrier. _Beer_ was almost a sacrilegious vice, it being that they were in Imladris, but it was offered and denied, after a moment of thought. Elrohir stared at the prince, surprised he even considered it.

"I get enough flak in the station for this accent, _mellon-nin_," Legolas laughed, "Can you see me in a bar with the boys asking for Perrier? Beer is an acquired taste."

"Beer," Elrohir said thoughtfully, "A bar… oh Legolas. If Estel could see you now… Lining up in a Starbucks too, I bet. Or eating donuts and burgers and things. Do you drive a car?"

"Yes," Legolas answered, "I have a very sensible Toyota, my friend. A BMW would not have been very becoming for a fellow in my profession."

"Speaking of cars," Elrohir said, rising and dusting salt from his clothes, "I think I hear Elladan's in the drive. About time, if you ask me. He's been in Italy for weeks."

Legolas rose too, stretching as he did. A curious look played about his face and Elrohir looked at him suspiciously.

"Beat you to the door!" Legolas said breathlessly, immediately taking the lead in a run.

"You cheat!" Elrohir laughed as he followed, "Oh, you spoiled brat prince, you're going to pay!"

"Less talk and more speed to catch up, Elrohir!" Legolas called over his shoulder, as his long legs practically flew over the corridors and stairs. If anything, his years as a soldier and cop made his strides wider and faster. But Elrohir was not discouraged. This was still _his_ house, after all, and he knew all the short-cuts.

He turned a sharp left into a broom closet with some secret steps. Legolas heard him and exclaimed, "That is unfair!" He heard Elrohir's laughter drift away, and he speeded up even more.

He reached the foot of the winding main stairs to the receiving hall at the same time Elrohir burst from a secret passage behind a swiveling painting. They reached the main doors at the same instant, and stepped back as it was swung open by the new arrival…

Racing elves gawked at the sight of Elladan and Anatalia Craxi, whose intense eyes were fixed on the haunting ghost of tens of photographs taken hundreds upon hundreds of years ago.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Guys, thanks so much for the wildly encouraging reviews. I tried to post, really I did and I feel so bad that I'm taking so long. I'm up to chapter 19 in this thing; I'm really working it's just that my internet's shot. It's fixed at last and I am now, after seemingly an eternity, BACK!!! I'll thank all my reviewers in the next post. I'm just very eager to show you what I've done with the piece, and I also know I've been making you wait long enough. I'm really sorry.

Please keep the reviews coming if you can, they give me fire :) I'll make up for the delay with three chapters this post :) 'TIL CHAPTER TEN then!!! :)


	8. About Time

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

8: About Time

Imladris, Mid-2004

Elladan ushered Ana to a chair in the living room, and grabbed his twin brother's arm in a vice-like grip, tugging him to the bar. The fiery Italian woman is going to want a whiskey, after this.

Legolas stood uncertainly, wondering if he was to see to Anatalia or follow the twin sons of Elrond. He decided to hold his ground and pretend interest in a painting he's seen millions of times before, millions of lives ago.

'You did not tell me Legolas was coming,' Elladan said.

'This is more his home than hers, brother,' Elrohir pointed out, 'You did not tell me _she_ was coming.'

'I thought it was about time you were introduced,' Elladan said edgily, 'I was not prepared for any… any… explanations for all the other things yet.' The elf's deft hands prepared alcoholic drinks for four.

'You've not said 'hi' to Legolas,' Elrohir pointed out, 'Impolite.'

'He'd understand,' Elladan growled, but he abandoned the drinks to Elrohir and made a step toward Legolas.

At that instant, Halvor stepped from his quarters, undoubtedly because of the commotion. He almost ran into Legolas, and he immediately bowed low and murmured, 'My liege.'

Anatalia, who was seated nearby, watched the exchange with widened eyes.

Elladan sighed.

_Well this was bound to happen_…

Elladan walked to Legolas and smiled at him apologetically. "Welcome to Imladris, _mellon-nin_. I'm sorry. I was stunned, I suppose."  
"I thought you knew I would be by," Legolas said, "I'm sorry for the intrusion—"

"It's my delinquent brother's fault, do not worry," Elladan sighed, and lowered his voice even as he fell into his native elvish, 'I suppose it's long been in the cards. I think she is the kind I could love. And if she is indeed that sort of woman, I should have nothing to fear.'

'I am sorry—'

'No, no,' Elladan cut him off, 'Come. We shall give you a proper introduction.'

_And give _me_ a proper introduction as well._

_ Ana… _he thought fervently, _I hope you take me for what I am._

" " "

Elrohir sat in front of Ana, putting the tray of drinks on the table that stood between them.

"So," Elrohir said gamely to his brother, eyes twinkling, "She's found us out. Do we toss her into the dungeons? Or do you prefer the tower?"

"You're not helping," Elladan growled at him.

Ana was nervous—understandably—and her eyes oft darted toward Legolas, who sat beside Elrohir. But she was spirited too, and gamely met Elrohir's eyes and pointed out that they had no tower to put her in. Elrohir simply grinned, thinking he could like her.

"Anatalia," Elladan said gently, "This is Elrohir, my twin brother. The fellow here is Legolas, who is an old friend, and a brother in spirit."

Legolas smiled at her uncertainly, and she returned the look with respect.

"You've a curious name," she said, remembering that name from a 1585 photograph!

_You're a curious man_, she meant, and they all knew it.

"Did… did Elladan…" she said haltingly, searching his face, "Did Elladan tell you about… I'm sorry," she smiled, "I am sounding terribly incoherent. I suppose I just think this is… extraordinary. Did Elladan tell you, that you share in the likeness of this curious line I am tracing?"

"Yes," Legolas replied, "He did."

"You did not tell me you knew him," Ana chided the other elf, "Is this a surprise for me? You asked him here for me to see?" she frowned in thought, "But you seemed just as surprised as I was… Why did you not tell me?"

Elrohir looked at his stumped brother expectantly. There was an almost appreciative look to his eye. It was a joy to see Elladan so… _flustered_ and, and, well, _in love_. He'd have stayed except Legolas rose and tugged at him to follow.

"We're going to leave," Legolas said to Anatalia with a smile, "It was nice meeting you, Miss Craxi."

"It's Ana," she said, offering him her hand. He shook it firmly, just before dragging Elrohir away with him.

"We'll leave you the drinks," he winked at her, as he let himself be pulled away.

As the pair of elves walked off, they heard Elladan begin the conversation by saying, "Ana, I have something unbelievable to say…"  
Elrohir grinned, looking sideways at a worried-looking Legolas. "Come on, my friend. It's just as well. She really ought to know."  
"Is this my fault?" the Mirkwood prince asked.

Elrohir scoffed, "It's not your fault, _mellon­-nin_. It's my _achievement_. Not intentional, unfortunately, but this will all turn out for the best, you'll see. She'll like him." The elf laughed, "She is, after all, a big fan of antiques!"

" " "

She stared at him expectantly, and he avoided her gaze miserably. How in all of Arda was he supposed to begin this explanation.

"It can't be as bad as all that," she said soothingly, and he wondered if she was speaking thus as much for his sake as her own.

"If I told you I cannot die, would you believe me?" Elladan asked her with a nervous breath.

"No," she replied tentatively, wondering where he was going with this, "What does this all have to do with your ghost-friend?"  
"We are of the same kin, him and me," said Elladan, "To tell you of him is to tell you of myself."

"All right," she said, wary, "What of the pair of you?"  
"If I told you I do not age, would you believe me?" he asked.

Her lips curved. "You are _bellisimo_, Elladan. Yes, I would."  
"Ana, I am being serious," Elladan told her. "You are to take the questions literally."

"I am serious too," she said tersely, "And how else could I take it other than figuratively, hm?"

"I suppose that is a no," Elladan said dryly, "Hm. If I told you I'm not human, would you believe me?"

"No," she answered, beginning to get irritated, "What sort of game are you playing?"

"No game," he chuckled nervously, wearily, "If you will not believe anything I say, then we might as well not bother with this conversation."  
She frowned at him. "Elladan. Look at my face. I wish desperately to know you. But the things you are saying are off the X-files. This is fiction. This is fantasy. _Estraordinario_. Who are you? Please, I beg to know."  
He looked at her dryly. "I'm an elf, I've been alive for ages and ages you cannot imagine. I do not age, I do not die. I am one of the last of my kin still here on Earth. I am like Legolas. We live amongst you _edain _in secret."

She stared at him. Her jaws were set, and she seemed vastly annoyed. Taking a deep breath, she took one of the glasses of whiskey and downed it in a gulp.

"I certainly believe you believe that," she said sternly, eyeing the other glasses, as if pondering having them as well. "I'm thinking I should be laughing, because this is ridiculous. But I find I am more… annoyed. For my time has been wasted playing your games, my… my… _affections_, wasted. My father, he will have a ball. For so smart a woman, to jump from one disastrous relationship into another. But this… this one is for the books. I've associated myself with a demented, clinically-insane person."

Elladan ran his hands over his face. How does one prove such a claim? _Spend the rest of your life with me, watch me not-age, watch me not-die_? The argument was preposterous, because in order to prove his claims, he'd have to have her trust and her heart, and in order to have that, he'd have to prove to her he was speaking the truth first… ridiculous, unsolvable circle.

"I only have my word," he told her gently, "This house, perhaps you'd want to have it carbon-dated or whatever it is you want to do. But it all calls for attention I cannot afford." He pushed his hair to the back of his ears, and plucked at the curved synthetic rubber that hid the pointed tips, "Would these suffice? And you've seen Legolas' photographs, all of those were him. I have some of my own. And the painting in your house, the man who looked like me? That was Elrohir. Ana… I want you in my life, and I know that in order to attain this you must know me. But I am what I am and I cannot prove it to you except by the passing of the ages, and I cannot change it."

She stared at him, and then chuckled at herself in embarrassment. "I cannot believe I am buying into this. Hm. _Dios mio_. What the hell. Would you agree to a DNA test?"

"I do not want the attention," Elladan replied, "How about if we just pretended I did not say any of these things and moved along?"  
She shook her head. "No. We've gone this far. I do not do things halfway, _signore_. I want to give you my heart. But I want to know where it is going and how much it is going to cost. I have loved you, and I will love you for whatever you are—elf or demented human—but I have to know who you are."

She shifted in her seat, plans running across her sharp eyes. "The way I see it… you have a centuries-old house, with literature and symbology I've never seen in all my life despite my experience. You've pointed ears. You've got a _ghost_ upstairs who has been roaming the world since 1585. All this deserves some thought. I think perhaps… perhaps I can find it in myself to try and believe you."

He watched her carefully. Anatalia on business-mode was a force to be reckoned with. And that was a hell of a curiosity to try and dampen. He will not be able to dissuade her. He could imagine her pulling at strands of his hair in his sleep and taking them to some hush-hush lab somewhere. She would keep his secret, he was sure of that much. But she would _wrest_ the answers from him first.

_Why do men have to like strong-willed, stubborn women_, he wondered as he looked at her thoughtfully.

"Did you just say you love me?" he asked her impishly.

"You said it first, did you not?" she lied.

"No," he smiled a little, "I did not."

She frowned at him, and he knew she was embarrassed. "Well?"

"Well what?" he asked.

"Aren't you going to say it?"

"I think I'll keep you guessing," he said to her in mock seriousness, "You are finding out too many things at once."  
She narrowed her eyes at him in irritation. "Fine."  
He grinned. "So. DNA test, eh, brat? I think I know a doctor who will keep quiet."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	9. This Time

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

9: This Time

Lost Angeles, Mid-2004

His secretary was a stern-faced, middle-aged dragon, who let them into the main office just before briskly walking away. The room was very neat, and at that moment, empty. As Anatalia sat upon a seat poised next to the doctor's desk, Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas strolled to a wall lined by Adrian Aaron's family photographs.

Ana watched their backs with a raised brow; the similarities amongst the three were startling, and even after spending a few weeks in their company in the Vienna estate, she still found them surreal and marvelous.

Elladan was the most level of the three; she admired his careful, poised control. His moods were very even most of the time, though she has seen that royal temper courted by her own father (_which was understandable_!). Elrohir was more spirited. He had an easy smile, and was too clever for his own good. He was very attentive to her, and very impossible to his brother, whom he often teased. As for Legolas… he had a quiet loneliness about him, some reserve, too much caution. She's seen his more playful side courted by the irrepressible twins though, especially after he's learned to be more comfortable with her. Despite their differences, they had this… _light_ to them she could not explain. Something old, or better, _timeless_.

_Dare I believe…?_

The subject of Elladan's claims were set aside from open conversation for a few days, though it oft crossed her beleaguered mind… To even consider it was laughable, and yet here she was, wasn't she? In an American doctor's office, with a silly request.

"Arwen," Elladan said suddenly, and his melodious voice caught her attention in the quiet of the room. She did not bother to rise and see what it was the three were fixated on, this photograph on the wall. She would not have been able to look over their tall shoulders. Much as she felt she was loved and welcome, she also understood that they had a world of their own (_whatever world that would be…_)

"That is my mother Rowena," came a voice from the door. The three elves started at the sight of 'Estel,' approaching them with an accommodating smile.

"She is very beautiful," Elrohir said, quickly regaining his composure, although his eyes were loathe to leave the face that had once belonged to a much-beloved brother.

"She's sixty, and she would be very happy to hear that," Adrian said, walking over to them and shaking their hands. Legolas watched the faces of the twins carefully, wondering if they found the sensation as surreal as he had.

"Lieutenant," Adrian greeted Legolas with a nod, "Ah, so you've come to see me at last."

"I am not here for that," Legolas said quickly, "I'm here for some whole other reason. These are my friends Ana, Elladan, and Elrohir."  
"So what may I do for you?" Adrian asked.

Legolas glanced at Elladan, unsure. "We were hoping you offer some testing services," Elladan replied, "Of DNA. And genes and things."

The _adan_'s brows furrowed in thought. "That is not my specialty. I know some things, of course, I took it up, but it is not my chosen field. Needless to say, I am not well-versed on the latest techniques of the subject. It's very dynamic. I can recommend some colleagues, however—"

"We'd prefer you," Elrohir said quickly.

"I was very impressed by your work with Rafael Montes," Legolas added, "He was all-praises for you."

"He was half-asleep and tanked on drugs for most of our meetings, Detective," Adrian said wryly, "What is this really about?"

"We want to examine the characteristics of our genes," Elladan said coolly, "You can help us, I never knew it was necessary to ask why. Is it not simply a question of your ability, and my money?"  
"Yes but I have the liberty to choose my patients, sir," Adrian replied, "And I am a bit… _uncertain_, about what has brought you here."  
"We were told we can count on your discretion," Anatalia piped in quickly, "Is this true?"

"Of course," Adrian answered, "but this is a privilege accorded to any patient anywhere, in theory. Basic medical ethics."

"In theory?" Ana asked.

"Some do not abide by it," Adrian replied, "But most do."

"_You_ do," Ana pointed out, "That is why we are here."

Adrian's eyes narrowed in thought, and he chewed at the inside of his mouth before asking if they were doing anything illegal.

"Oh, no, no," Ana said with a shake of her head, "I am merely looking for a sperm donor."

Elladan could have choked on the air he was breathing, and he coughed once as Legolas looked at him wryly and Elrohir grinned at his perspective sister-in-law with admiration.

"I've narrowed my prospects to these three gentlemen," she continued, not even batting an eye at the lie, "Because they look the best. But I want to know what is inside. I do not want to have a child who is good-looking but has a propensity for cancer, or all that genetic stuffs. I want an _inventory_, _signore_. I want to know what is inside, and I want this done quietly. That is why I wanted the procedure here, rather than in my own country."

Adrian Aarons stared at her for a long moment, deep in thought. He could tell that something was not quite straight and right with her, with her companions, with the _entire_ situation. But he was curious. He was _always_ curious. It was probably one of the driving forces that took him to his field, and as surely as he succumbed in youth, he succumbed this time too.

"All right," he smiled at his patients, "But I can only oversee a team of specialists, people I can personally vouch for."

"How many?" Ana asked.

"Two other fellows," Adrian replied, "It is not atypical. It is either this or go to somebody else, I earn well, I don't have a problem with that."

"Fine," Elladan said, "You are personally accountable."

"As always," said the doctor coolly, "So. I'm going to need you to sign some forms first, though."

"Will it be necessary for my lawyer to have you sign a confidentiality agreement?" Anatalia asked him, still playing her part.

"That would be unnecessary," Adrian replied dryly, "I'm sure if I said anything to anyone, you have other devices to make me regret it."

" " "

"I don't think he likes me very much," Legolas said to his companions, as the four friends stepped out of the hospital building and walked toward their car.

"He practically caught you _stalking_ him, _mellon-nin_," Elrohir chuckled, "I would not be so surprised."

"You stalked the doctor?" Ana asked him, "What on Earth for?"

"He resembles a dead brother," Elladan replied, "One that incidentally always gets in trouble the very breath he leaves your sight. I understand your anxiety, Legolas, I was loathe to leave that office as well. Estel's descendants resembled him, yes, but not to the extent of _that_ one. It's as if I was talking to him again. The fire in his eyes, the look of thought, curiosity. Uncanny."

"You are once again talking about things that are beyond me," Ana said, "What are you going to do if that DNA test yields that you are just as human as me, hm, have you thought of that? To find that you age, and you will one day die? That you've deceived yourself all these years…"

"I would actually be very relieved," Elladan laughed.

They stopped before the deep green Altis, and just as they were boarding, a jovial voice called upon Detective Leland Greene, and Legolas' face opened to a welcoming smile as he turned away from his friends and jogged toward the new arrivals.

The two men who had called upon him were a comical-looking pair. One of them was heavily-built and stocky, the other was tall and lean and awkward-looking, much younger. Side by side, they looked like the number '10;' one fat, one tall and thin. They were walking away from a police car, and were wearing identical uniforms and identical grins as they stepped toward Legolas.

Elrohir and Elladan watched, helplessly entranced and curious. In this lot, it seemed, that Legolas' two lives melded together in a curious fashion. They held their ground and looked on, Elvish ears easily picking up on the conversation from where they stood.

"We've not seen you in ages, detective," the stocky one said, "The other day, Montes said you went and got married already."

"That's him being an ass," Legolas replied easily, laughing, "And being very delusional and hopeful."

"Too bad, boss," the thin one said, "But I think I see a foxy chick in your car."

"Then that means you missed the two gentlemen with her," said Legolas wryly, "I'm attending to some family matters. Anyway, Montes is pretty much out too, I really might as well take the leave."

"I think the Captain's wigging out," said the thin one, "He's not used to you not being in the station. You know when he gets all authoritative and robot-like? He struts over to your office like he wants something from you, then he finds it empty forgetting you're not there, and we all end up pretending we didn't see or else we'd get the most sucky-assed job the rest of the day."

"So anything interesting happened?" Legolas asked.

"Nothing new, lieutenant, nothing new," said Stocky, "I'm just getting older and older and the job's still the same."

"Yeah, we just picked up this guy," said Thin, "Real wacko. A street prophet, one of those again. Found him at Wal-Mart proclaiming the end of the world. He's all right, but you know, he freaks people out and he doesn't make the place look so hot."

"Sounds like another day on the job," laughed Legolas.

"Hey! Heey!"

Legolas turned to the raving old man waving a cane sitting at the back of the nearby parked patrol car, and his eyes widened in surprise. His breath caught, and his pair of companions did not notice because they were looking at the old hobo too.

"Shut up, man!" Stocky exclaimed.

"I got a prophecy for you," the old man yelled, "I am gonna take a piss in this car, and you'd have to clean it up if we don't leave now!"

"Aw, shit," Thin muttered, "Hey lieutenant, we won't keep you, 'ayt? We gotta go."

Legolas nodded at them distractedly as the pair rushed over to their squad car. He took a tentative step forward, but simply looked on as they drove away. He was not quite sure if his eyes were deceiving him, but he wondered if it was indeed Mithrandir who winked at him from behind the glass as they passed him by.

Taking a deep breath, he ran over to his own car and hurriedly stepped into the driver's seat. His companions uncertainly did the same as he gunned the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Did you see that?" Legolas asked the twins breathlessly.

"Your friends?" Elrohir asked.

"Mithrandir," Legolas replied, "They have him, at the back of their car."

"Arrested?" Elladan's eyes widened in surprise.

Anatalia, feeling distinctly left out, just watched the exchange with eyes that seemed to be taking stock of everything. She knew they would not tell her much and she was determined to try to pick things up herself.

"Are you actually, _actually_ speeding and breaking all sorts of traffic rules trying to follow a _police_ car?" Elrohir asked, astounded at the mad driving the Mirkwood elf was employing. They had a rather unhealthy batch of near-misses, reminding Elrohir of the prince's just-as breathtaking antics on horse during the war. But navigating L.A. traffic held its own brand of menace, and at least on horse, Legolas was often on his own and represented a threat only to himself and his foes.

"I'm not sure," Legolas admitted, and they felt the car slow down slightly.

"Think about this first," Elladan said, "What crime did he do and where would they take him?"

"He was just disrupting the peace a little," Legolas replied, and this time, the car did slow to a more reasonable pace.

_And disrupting _my_ peace a lot…_

"They will release him in an hour, maybe two," Legolas said, taking a calming breath, "He's not going anywhere."

_And I'm not letting him out of my sight, anymore_.

"Good," said Elladan, "We'll just wait for him to come out of the station, then."

"You're sure it was him?" Elrohir asked.

"Yes," Legolas breathed, "Absolutely."

"Then we had better find out what it is that he wants from us," said Elladan, "This time."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	10. Glad You Are Here

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

10: Glad You are Here

Los Angeles, Mid-2004

They waited for him at the coffee shop just outside the police station. Legolas was not very comfortable being so near to his place of work, but they had little other option, and he suffered running into off-duty colleagues who stopped by the booth he, Elladan, Elrohir and Anatalia have commandeered to say hello to him.

The first acquaintance he ran into though, was the waitress on duty of course, whom he knew from his frequent visits there. Jackie was a pixie of a strawberry-blond who worked part-time to pay off her college tuition. She worked at _that_ diner in particular, considering it the safest place in the city. Clever and pretty, she had a good hand at nabbing the force's single men, and certainly tried her luck with Legolas. Though it did not hold up, she made it a point to try on a daily basis, except for this time that she set her sights upon Elrohir instead.

"Sugar?" she asked in the most suggestive way that she could, and he grinned at her in appreciation.

"No thank you," he replied, "At least, not the sort that comes with the coffee."

She winked at him before strutting away, and Legolas leaned over the table and said that he really ought to arrest the Rivendell elf for harassment.

"But I am _very,_ _very_ glad that you are here," he confessed, "I'd rather she set her sights on you than on me." Waitress Jackie on the prowl was a disaster waiting to happen. Then again, Elrohir was too, so if anything should come from the harmless flirtation, each should negate the effects of the other.

_If we're all lucky_.

Several co-workers released from their respective duty-hours stopped by too; a handful more of fit, beautiful and intelligent ladies in uniform directly followed the Waitress Jackie encounter, leading Elrohir to consider a shift in careers. And then the Captain stopped by and almost grunted at them in greeting, before vanishing off with a cup of coffee he forgot to pay for.

"Aren't you gonna arrest him, Leland?" Jackie asked Legolas.

"Hell no," Legolas replied, "I'll pay for the coffee."

It was not a very rare occurrence. How can one arrest the captain of the station after all.

"He reminds me of your _ada_," Elladan said to Legolas, "Kind of… nice, but a bit… _severe_."

"Does he?" Legolas murmured, smiling slightly. The thought had crossed his mind once or twice. But King Thranduil numbered amongst those things and persons he would rather not think about, for the grief of their parting would always be with him.

Rafael Montes on crutches hobbled over across the street, and Legolas' face widened to a blinding smile at the sight of his friend. Though he offered the injured man no great assistance (knowing it would be adamantly refused), he did rise from his seat and let Montes sink gratefully into it.

"Greene," Rafe growled at him, "You bastard. You weren't even gonna stop by, were you? They had to tell me you were here, I had to hobble over across the blasted street…"

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" Legolas laughed.

"Aren't you?" Montes retorted, "Oh man. How long you been back?"

"Just today," Legolas replied, motioning for his other companions, "I want you to meet my friends. This is Elrohir, Ana and Elladan. Fellows, my partner, Rafe."

"Glad to meetcha," Rafe said, shaking hands jovially all around.

"So you've been the cursed fellow tasked to keep this one out of trouble, eh?" Elladan asked.

"It's the other way around, actually," Montes grinned.

"Hard to imagine," Elrohir breathed.

"I am here, have you forgotten?" Legolas laughed, "What would you have to eat, Monty?"

Rafael winced, rising, "Nah, I have to get back. I kinda just told them I was going to the can. The minutes are running and the taxpayers' money is rolling."

"I'll walk you," Legolas offered, and the two friends walked toward the door after Rafael made his goodbye's.

"Relatives of yours?" he asked Legolas.

"Yes," Legolas replied, _in a way_.

"I never knew you had any," Rafael said as they walked.

"Well neither did I," Legolas replied.

"This is good," said Rafe, "You look… happier."

"I've always been happy," Legolas pointed out.

"No, this is different," said Rafe, "It's like you're on fire, man. Like you've found something."

Legolas looked at his partner curiously. Montes was seeing something he himself was not able to notice up until it was expressly pointed out to him just now. Though the various incarnations and reincarnation and encounters and re-encounters with old friends from a more tumultuous age promised it's own dangers, he genuinely felt rejuvenated and somehow… properly _in place_. He could suddenly speak of secret things that have been lodged in his heart for centuries. To speak his native tongue and be understood by someone. To talk of 'Imladris' and 'Estel' and not to have to feel these things were so detached from him, and so distant.

Legolas stopped by the door, and patted his friend at the back. "You're all right here, Rafe?"

"Yeah, yeah," the man waved at him as he walked inside, "I got to the other side on my own, didn't I? I'm not gonna keel over and die, just 'cos you're not watching."

Legolas smiled as he _watched_ the man head back to his office, and he stepped aside as the doors were pushed open to accommodate an old homeless man exiting the building…

Legolas' heart pounded in his ears as the old man passed him by. Taking a calming breath, he stepped forward and walked apace with the fellow, wondering how in the world he was to begin this conversation. For a few long moments, they walked quietly beside each other, each step punctuated by the gentle tok! of the old man's cane against the pavement.

"Mithrandir," Legolas said with some reserve, and the homeless man stilled beside him.

"Gandalf," Legolas said more forcefully, shifting in his native elvish 'Is it really you?'

He held his breath, awaiting the moment of truth. The old man's face turned up to look at him.

"Legolas," Gandalf smiled, reclaiming his accent after shocking the Mirkwood elf with 'I-got-a-prophecy-for-you-I-am-gonna-take-a-piss-in-this-car' but hours ago.

"Clever prince," said the wizard warmly, "It has been too long."

" " "

"Hello young lady," the old man greeted Anatalia as he squeezed into the back of the car with Elladan and the beautiful Italian. She was watching him warily, and marveled at the ill-fitting cultured English accent on the greased-and-grimed homeless fellow, wondering if he was crazy, and wondering if the lot of _them_ were even crazier for having him.

"Hello," she managed, and felt Elladan's worried gaze over her face. Indeed, he had better believe that a fiery young woman with wealth and privilege wanted more to do with her life than being crammed like groceries into the back of the car with strange people.

"Lord Elrond will be exhilarated," Gandalf proclaimed, "Valinor hangs on tenterhooks to see who it was that has managed to capture your heart, Elladan. Your lady grandmother had to settle for the most vague possibilities in her visions of the future."

"It works like reality TV," said Elrohir wryly.

"Mithrandir," said Legolas, "Why did you have to evade me so cleverly, and set up such mystery and intrigue if you were to eventually acknowledge me anyway?"

"It's all about timing, my prince," the wizard replied, "Timing, timing, timing. I managed to save your life, didn't I? I managed to have you take a leave from work, didn't I? I managed to have you encounter this fine woman in Imladris, didn't I? I managed to have you thereafter require the services of Adrian Aarons, didn't I? Mystery and intrigue works, Thrandullion, especially for the likes of the perennially troublesome folk like you."

"Are you God?" Ana asked him tersely. _How in the world does the old man know of all this?!_

"No, young lady," replied Gandalf, "I am not."

"What is happening, Mithrandir?' Legolas asked, "Why are we all here, now, brought together after all these years?"

"Answers to these shall be revealed in good time," Gandalf replied, "I do not know them myself. My task is but to ensure we are all in our proper places, for the bad and the good. I believe something was awakened that should have remained asleep, and now all else who sleep must be awakened too, and set things right."

"Are we speaking of…" Legolas said haltingly, "Surely you do not refer to… Sauron?"

"I do not know everything, Legolas," Gandalf said soothingly, "I only know what needs knowing when I need to know them."

"You'll get used to it," Elladan said to Ana wryly, though his eyes were raking her face and wondering if he still had her. Her lips quirked slightly in reassurance, and he nodded at her gratefully.

"I suppose we are now going to be doing that which needs doing too," Legolas said sarcastically.

"As always," said Gandalf. "But there's time yet. Bring me to that fabulous place of yours, boy, I need a bath. I've been in these rags long enough."

" " "

Legolas hastily readied the guest room of his clever condominium. He was not quite sure who would be using it, perhaps Anatalia, but nevertheless he prepared it and gathered a change of clothes for Mithrandir too. The wizard made a beeline for the showers, and he settled his guests in his spacious living room.

"Fancy place, Legolas," said Anatalia, "Very beautiful."

"A bachelor pad," grinned Elladan.

"I guarantee you it does not see much action," Legolas chuckled, as he walked to his austere kitchen and prepared everyone tea. Elrohir watched his deft and graceful hands with some surprise.

"_Mellon-nin_," he said, "You have turned _domestic_."

"You do not know the half of it," said Legolas dryly, leaving his kettle to boil and grabbing an apron from one of his cabinets. He raised it up and it said, 'Kiss the Cook.'

"I make a mean microwave spaghetti," he laughed, "This was a Christmas present from Montes, who found it a bit ironic. Unlike you Rivendell louts, I've not had a manservant in ages."

_Literally_, Ana deduced, _if their claims hold true_.

The wizard showed his magical prowess yet again when he appeared clean-shaven and freshly bathed at the very moment the tea was ready for drinking. Ana found herself staring at a man who was undoubtedly trim and even handsome in old age, looking very dandy and dignified in his borrowed clothes. He actually reminded her of someone she could not quite recall. The image of him clean and properly turned out jogged an evasive memory.

"Oh if you are wondering," Gandalf said to her, "We have met before."

"We have?" she asked.

The old man made a gesture of pounding an auctioneer's hammer. "Going, going, gone. The estate of Miss Francine Davenport is sold to the beautiful young lady in red. Congratulations! Next item…"

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was finally beginning to understand what all this _truly_ meant, and that was _before_ the phone rang with Adrian Aarons bearing some _alarming_ news.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Thanks to all who read and reviewed!!! :) 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!! :)


	11. Where Do I Start

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

11: Where Do I Start

Los Angeles, Mid-2004

The phone suddenly rang, making an already-jogged Anatalia jump. Elladan reclaimed her hand reassuringly, and she anchored herself to him with a vice-like grip.

Legolas smiled a little at the sight, and put the phone on speaker mode after recognizing the number as belonging to Adrian Aarons.

"I didn't tell anybody!" the doctor angrily exclaimed.

Legolas' eyes narrowed in confusion. "Um. Hello doctor?"

"Why would you have me work on it if you would sabotage it anyway?" Adrian ranted, "Oh I knew, I knew when you asked me to do this I was getting into some trouble…"

"Slow down," Legolas said authoritatively, "Begin by telling me what happened."

"Do not tell me you didn't know," the doctor scoffed, "Give me a little credit."

"Did you find anything out?" Anatalia asked, finding the question irresistible.

"Oh did I!" exclaimed Adrian, "How did you do it, hm? Some kind of new splicing? I saw some things that are not even supposed to exist. If you modify genes so well I can't see why you had to hire me to test it. Were you wondering if it would appear on a conventional test? How did you do it? And why on Earth would you blast my lab? This doesn't make any sense."

Legolas' thoughts were running around in circles, and he closed his eyes in a struggle to keep things properly in perspective. "Blast your lab. We did no such thing. Why would we hire someone and then do away with his work? With _you_?"

"Because I found something out," Adrian replied.

"You have a fine criminal mind," Elrohir put in wryly.

"You're not helping," Elladan growled at him.

"Maybe it's better for us not to speak of this over the phone," Anatalia said uncertainly.

"You want to meet me face-to-face, eh?" snapped Adrian, "Let me guess, in a back alley somewhere, so you can get rid of me quietly?"  
"As I was saying…" said Elrohir.

"Listen," Legolas sighed, "We can meet on your terms."

"How about the police station?" Adrian retorted, "With you, behind bars and me on the other side."

"Adrian, listen to me," said Legolas, not quite sure of how to handle an Aragorn who did not know what to do, "We did not do anything to sabotage your work. You've seen for yourself how vital it was to keep your discovery a secret. You may have the samples, but _we_ are the source. We can all be in the same kind of danger."

"Is someone after you?" Adrian asked, groaning a bit at the thought that he was unwittingly dragged into this whole situation.

"No one is supposed to know about us," Legolas said, "But after… _everything_, I'm sure you would agree in that I am disinclined to dismiss anything as impossible."

A momentary silence from the other end of the line, and decisions were definitely being made.

"Coffee shop across the street from the police station in fifteen minutes," said Adrian, "I feel safe there. And I'm bringing some friends. Colleagues of mine."

"Could we count on their discretion?" Elrohir asked.

"I don't care," snapped Adrian, "One of me and several of you? If you cook up something, I won't stand a chance."

"In fifteen minutes then," said Legolas with an approving nod, "Watch your back."

"Is that a threat?" Adrian asked wryly, just before hanging up. Legolas took a deep breath and looked at his companions.

"Away we go," he sighed.

" " "

His nerves were fraught with anxiety, and they did not ease until his eyes settled on the familiar figure of the approaching doctor…

Only to be shot to high heavens again at the sight of his two companions.

_Boromir__?!!!___

_ Faramir?!!!_

Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose. _Oh for the Valar's sake_, he thought miserably, _Must they appear little by little in inconvenient moments? Let's have them all in one blow and be done with it quickly_…

"Let me guess," Legolas said to the new arrivals wearily, "His name is… Bob? Brian? Bors…? What else could you do with that letter…? And this other one is Frank? Frankie…?"

"It's Brad and Fred to you, mister," 'Boromir' snapped, turning to Adrian, "What's his problem?"

Adrian looked at Legolas with noted consternation, obviously thinking, _Where__ do I start_?

"Coffee?" Elrohir offered, as the two new arrivals settled in their seats.

Anatalia shifted uncomfortably beside Elladan, thinking with dread how long a night this would be. The perceptive elf who loved her claimed her hand and twined his fingers reassuringly about her own, and she decided it would nevertheless still manage to be a good one.

" " "

"Has the Valar run out of faces to use among the living?" Legolas asked Mithrandir as Elrohir sweet-talked Waitress-Jackie into serving them the freshest brew, and a free glazed donut for himself, "Or have they run out of heroes such that the old ones need resurrecting?"

"Their reasoning is their own," Gandalf told him coolly, "You can ask them that when you see each other."

Legolas frowned. "You speak as if it's so near."

"It always is, my prince," said Gandalf, "for everybody."

"You said something about a lab blasting," Legolas said, turning to Adrian.

"We went out for a smoke," the doctor replied, "We heard someone mulling around, but then I dismissed it as one of the night guards, or the maintenance guys. And then there was a dull kind of boom!, and when I ran back to the lab thinking maybe I left something on, I literally ran into someone who was hurrying to get out. Well of course he seemed surprised to see me. He shoved me aside and ran off. Did the same for all three of us. First we thought to run after him, and then we just decided to salvage what we could of our work."

"You've reported this to the authorities of course," said Legolas.

"Yes," Adrian replied, "I just came from there."

"Good," Legolas nodded, "Can you remember this saboteur's face?"

"It was dark and smoky at the time," Adrian said, frowning.

"Aside from the incident," said Legolas, "Did you tell the cops what you were working on?"

"Rafael Montes asked that," Adrian answered, "And no, I said I was contracted by private citizens and am ethically bound not to speak of it. But I did tell him it was a standard DNA test. Which it was, outside of what I actually discovered."

Legolas sighed in relief. _Good._

"So you really had nothing to do with this?" Adrian asked.

"We are both inconvenienced by this turn of events," Legolas murmured, looking toward Elrohir and Elladan. "Your lab and our secret are both compromised. No one was supposed to know about us."

"Know what of you, exactly?" Anatalia asked, turning to Adrian, "What did you discover, doctor?"

Adrian stared at her for a long moment, wondering if she was putting on a show, if she actually already knew… But her eyes were burning hungrily, devouring his face in search of odd answers.

"I do not understand any of this," Adrian replied tentatively, "I can't just tell you everything that I know and have you tell me absolutely nothing about what's going on. I need you to tell me something I can understand…"

"I love him," Anatalia said to him fervently after a moment of thought, "And I want to know who he is."

Adrian set his jaws, considering the plea.

_Love,_ he reflected_, curious_. He was almost certain he'd have stubbornly held up against a threat. But her plea, and her eyes… if he was to surrender to anything, it might as well be this.

_Good enough_, he decided.

"The samples we tested," he said warily, lowering his voice, "In essence they are human DNA, at least, structurally. It is some of the… the more unique _content_ that fascinates me. These samples do not get corrupted--they do not _age_ if I dare say so, they have accelerated healing, unimaginable tolerance for harsh conditions, theirs are the healthiest and cleanest sets of transferable traits that I have ever seen. In short, I tested these and found no disease, no aging… they are the very best of what is human, and… and _more_."

"You've never seen it's like before?" Anatalia asked meekly, her grip upon Elladan's hands slackening a bit.

"Never," Adrian replied zealously, "I am _dying_ to scream it. This is phenomenal. I'd be more confident of the discovery, however, if I had a second or even third test, just to see if I made any mistakes but," he turned to Legolas wryly, "I don't have a lab right now, do I?"

"Good," said Legolas, "Then you can sit quietly on this for awhile."

"We will be more than eager to reimburse you for the loss of property and equipment," Elladan offered.

"Thanks," said Adrian, "But I have insurance."  
"They have all sorts of insurance now," Elrohir said suddenly, "They even have boyfriends and girlfriends insuring each other. There's fire, theft, natural disasters, sabotage…"

"What's your point?" Elladan asked him dryly.

"Something's going down over our heads," Elrohir replied easily, "Now would be _very_ good time to avail of these modern capitalist wonders, eh?"

"What's going down over our heads?" Brad snapped.

Legolas shook his head in frustration, "I'm not entirely sure."

"We will look further into this," Elladan said, "Right now I think it would be best to keep our heads low."

The group nodded as they began to adjourn and rise to their feet. Elrohir generously footed the bill, not to mention giving Waitress a Jackie a generous tip. She smiled at him and walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Legolas toward the doors.

"He's nicer than you," she teased.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" he asked her mock-gravely, as she returned to her duties. Her spot was hesitantly taken over by Adrian Aarons.

"I'm not sure," said the doctor, "I'm not sure if I want you to keep me posted."  
Legolas looked at him thoughtfully. _Estel_ always had good instincts and it seemed fair to assume Adrian would too. There was a shift in the air, it was a time of change. They all knew it. They just did not know exactly what they were getting into, him least of all and naturally, he did not know how deeply entrenched he wanted to find himself in all the coming trouble.

"I'm just a normal guy," said Adrian, "I do this normal thing for a living. I don't run around getting blasted at. I never planned on being part of some genetic-modifying conspiracy of some sort. I just… A part of me wants to know what this is all about. And another part…" he shook his head in dismay. "I don't know."

"Understandably so," Legolas murmured reassuringly, "Doctor. You do not know me very well, but I will not plunge you headfirst into any danger I cannot protect you from. I promise. I _swear_."

Adrian stared at him a long moment, before accepting the passionate vow with a nod, and walking away with Fred and Brad who was saying, "Man, I need a drink."

" " "

Rafael Montes peered out his window, sights between the blinds, with a critical eye. He would hardly call Leland's new company as particularly menacing. But there was something a miss here. Greene no longer seemed as happy as he seemed earlier this morning, and if anything, judging by his body language, the way he spoke up most, and how his companions all turned to him… he even looked like the ringleader of the suspicious bunch.

Montes frowned, and stepped back from the window. He recognized the old man as the arrested hobo from this morning. No one could forget those eyes, he supposed, and he was also not a detective for decades for nothing. He was good with names and faces and reading people. What was Leland doing with the old street prophet? What was he doing with Adrian Aarons, who just had a bomb going off in his lab? What was he doing taking a leave but hovering around the station anyway?

_ What is Leland Greene up to?!_

TO BE CONTINUED…

Thanks everyone so much for the wildly encouraging reviews! I'm up to chapter 21 now and still going :) I was going to pace my posts a bit, you know, every few days. But I looove reviews and I just thought, you guys make me happy and I'll try to satisfy you too :) and so, I hope you did have fun and see you at the next post!!! :)


	12. Shadows

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

12: Shadows

Los Angeles, Mid-2004

Elladan found her leaning over one of Legolas' balconies, looking up into the night sky. She had an exquisite profile and deep, thoughtful eyes that seemed to be pondering the worlds beneath her and all at once looking to the stars to take her away.

"I am very sorry," he told her quietly, and she faced him slowly, moonlight bathing her face.

"Sorry for what?" Anatalia asked him, quietly teasing, "Sorry for the secrets? Sorry for the events that followed? Sorry that you haven't caught me alone since we got here?"  
He smiled a bit, appreciating the levity, but wanting to keep the seriousness of his mood, wanting her to tell him exactly how she felt. "Ana," he said, "You do not need to pretend with me."  
"I know, I know," she said with a careless wave of her hand, "All right. I'm very annoyed with you," she smiled suddenly, impishly, "But I'm quickly getting over it."

"Now that you know what I am," said Elladan, "Would you still take a gamble with me?"

"Relationships are hard enough between two people," she said, "without one of them _not_ being from another planet. But then again, all love is a gamble, isn't it?"  
"Yes," Elladan grinned, "It is. And we _are_ from this planet."

"It was a hyperbole," she retorted.

"Who uses that word in ordinary conversation?" he asked.

"Me," she told him boldly, "Don't elves stand much shorter and have pointy ears and pointy hats and pointy shoes and wear green things all the time? Do you still help out Santa Clause at Christmas? Is that the job you wouldn't tell my father?"

"Pointy ears, yes," laughed Elladan, "Everything else, no. Misconceptions, my lady, especially since Legolas graduated from the green frocks centuries ago."

"Centuries ago," she breathed, chuckling nervously, "I cannot believe this. I cannot believe I'm believing. But I can't… really dispute Legolas being here and being in 1585. And I cannot argue the old man who sold me Francine Davenport's estate who is a hobo with an English accent. And I cannot deny me Adrian Aaron's discoveries. And I cannot deny that I look in your eyes and believe. You know what they say. That the greatest distance ever is the space between one's mind and one's heart."

"Aye," said Elladan wistfully, "There is that."  
"I cannot back away from you, Elladan," she said to him, "Not now, and likely not ever. After I've broken away from my confusion, I know… I _know_ you took a gamble on me too." She smiled, "Besides… I play for keeps."

He grinned at her broadly, and she had the rare vision of him looking like a young boy during his ninth birthday getting a spanking red fire engine for a present. There was a light in his eye that was not so much ageless, not so much timeless but just… exhilaratingly _alive_, of the moment, and _hers_.

He pulled her into a bear-hug of an embrace, almost uncharacteristically unguarded. He loves fiercely, and he plays for keeps too.

"I will tell you who we are," he murmured, "And what all of this could mean."

" " "

Elrohir commandeered Detective Greene's laptop, having left his own in Europpe and not expecting to need it. The hour was early, with the sun yet to shine for hours, and he found himself awake and with nothing else to do.

He found his thoughts drifting to Adrian Aarons… a reincarnated _Estel_, he supposed, more than any of that line who followed the illustrious and much-beloved Aragorn. Adrian was like Estel in much more than face, much more than mannerisms… fate itself was pointing toward that very fact, given that they found Adrian along with a reincarnated Boromir, and now that they had Gandalf in their midst. But there was something strange about it, in that he always thought whomever could be a hero in a time of great worldly distress would emerge from one of the first sons. That was why when the descendants of Aragorn numbered so greatly, he and Elladan decided to simply follow the eldest sons, and their eldest sons and so on.

But Adrian Aarons, to say the least, was an anomaly. He was not a son of a male descendant of Aragorn's… he received that line from his mother, who looked like Arwen. And this was a line that has veered so far away from the line he and Elladan followed that he never even knew about Adrian.

Frowning, Elrohir accessed the files he kept password-blocked and well-secured on-line. He subcontracted the most sophisticated of computer software companies toward protecting his files and at the same time, allowing him to access his information on any computer anywhere in the world.

Here, he looked to the latest eldest-son and 'heir' to the throne of Gondor and Arnor, if it still existed. It was a twenty-four year-old man named Andrew.

_I thought you would be the one_, Elrohir reflected.

Andrew was actually the third of several Andrew's; his father was a Jr., his grandfather Sr. Sr. had a Phd in Physics and a successful business, Jr. waited in line, and Andrew III was working toward a master's degree in Business Administration to eventually take over the family fortune.

_Clever family_…

Elrohir clicked on the names, looking for updates on where they were and what they were doing. He kept the family trees beginning with a year of birth, and then checked in once in awhile to see how they fared, or put in the year of death if the occasion deemed it so. Once in awhile, if he knew of it in time, he even went to a funeral.

He sighed, finding that Andrew Sr. died in a boating accident last year. Sprightly old bugger kept an active lifestyle up until the end. Andrew Jr. died in a car crash not long afterwards.

_That must have been a very sad year for them_…

He looked up Andrew III, and nearly fell off his seat to find that he too, perished last year, a hit and run.

_Oh for the love of the Valar_…

Was it all a hideous coincidence?

_Estel_, he thought achingly, _I've failed to protect your family_…

The line of the first born sons have been broken and torn asunder. His heart pounded.

_ Hideous coincidence, hideous coincidence, hideous coincidence…_

_Then why is my heart pounding madly_?

He looked up the line of the second sons, to find that they too have perished and ended in some strange accident or other. Anxiously, he looked up the third sons, finding the same persistent and ugly truth. He went no further. It hurt too much and too deeply, and he did not have the time…

_How could I have known_, he thought achingly, _Estel__, I am so sorry. I kept away, I only watched from a distance as they did away with your family…_

Adrian Aarons, at the very brink of a worldly disaster, was the resurrected hero because no one else could be. And someone wanted to make sure Aragorn son of Arathorn remained in the grave. Someone was after Adrian Aarons, he knew this now. When they blasted at his lab, they were after the doctor, and not the samples.

He burst from his seat and dialed the doctor's number.

" " "

Elrohir, Elladan and Legolas sneaked into the doctor's apartment in a quiet, lethal rush, fearing the absolute worst. When Elrohir called and caught the machine, he hastily woke up the other elves and they immediately set out toward Adrian Aaron's home (having 'borrowed' the information from one of Legolas' friends at the station).

They froze in the kitchen, having entered from one of its windows, and kept the lights closed and their presence secret as they, used their elven ears and listed for any sound that could indicate life, or disturbance, or some kind of an intruder.

They stood still, and looked at each other with sharp eyes at the sound of shuffling from the bedroom, and the sound of a car parking outside.

The three friends remained into the shadows and crept toward the main door, just as Adrian turned the key, pushed the door forward and stepped inside his house.

Elrohir grabbed the _adan_ and pressed a hand to his lips. The man struggled and muffled a cry, but calmed at the sound of Legolas' lowered voice.

"It is I, Leland," Legolas whispered into his ear, "There is someone inside your house."

When the tension eased from the doctor's body, Elrohir released him and he whispered in a harsh tone, "Yes, there is. You!"

The four men stayed in the shadows and closed the door. The intruder was right to sense something was amiss, and they heard more shuffling from the bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, Legolas, bearing his gun, took the lead and stepped toward the sounds, flanked by Elladan, Adrian and Elrohir. They halted just outside the bedroom door and pressed themselves against the wall, watching and waiting, as a pair of men clad in black, bearing guns lengthened by silencers quietly stepped out of the cabinet.

"There are people coming out of the closet," Adrian whispered, alarmed but trying to keep his tone flat and low.

"It's the new millennium, my friend," Elladan whispered reassuringly, grinning at him, "Some people really do that."

"Stay down," Legolas whispered to his friends, and though they desired to do otherwise, they understood very well the wisdom in following what the cop just said; they were all great fighters, but Legolas was the only one armed with a gun.

Legolas jumped out to the door frame and aimed at them. "Freeze, LAPD!"

Elrohir looked at Elladan with alarm as the shots started raining around them. "Did he just really say that?!"

They pressed down on the floor, and heard Legolas return fire. The intruders scrambled for the windows, at which time Legolas ceased his shooting in fear of endangering the neighborhood; the houses were pressed close together, and there was no telling where evaded bullets flew. The assassins, however, had no qualms against the possibility of killing innocent people, and they rushed off, randomly shooting behind them to discourage Legolas from pursuit.

The stubborn Mirkwood prince rushed to his feet, and made for the windows and jumped out. He was a fast runner, but his foes had a great head start, not to mention a rain of gunfire sending him to the ground every once in awhile. He was still regaining his feet for the nth time when his prey vanished off into the night with a mad screech of tires in an unmarked car.

He muttered a curse in profound irritation, and turned to his three companions breathlessly, saying, "I didn't get anything."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys! Thanks so much for the reviews!!! I won't be able to reply to each one right now because I've been so busy I thought you guys may just want me to answer and thank you through quick posts. I'm working on chapter 22 right now and well, chapter 22 is the entrance of yet another much-loved character. To answer some of your questions though, the point where I'm writing my story right now already has Eomer in it :) next post will be two chapters… I'm OC and really feel uncomfortable leaving something at number 13. Anyway, expect Brad, Fred and Adrian setting foot in Imladris :) 'til then!!! :)


	13. An Interesting Vacation

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

13: An Interesting Vacation

Los Angles, Mid-2004

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir stepped into the apartment to find Gandalf wearing the 'Kiss the Cook' apron and Anatalia beside him as they worked to prepare breakfast.

"Oh, honey, you cooked!" Elladan said with a smile, and she regarded him sarcastically and overly sweetly, so sweetly her face turned sour with her incredible ire over having been left behind in her sleep during the night and with the men going off on some wild adventure, leaving the old person and the woman behind.

"You are _archaic_," she told him darkly, "In more than one sense of the word." She practically shoved a plate of scrambled eggs into his hands.

"Did you put anything in it?" he asked her sardonically.

"Laxatives, why?" she retorted, "Is that going to be a problem?"

Elrohir glanced at the pair and decided to bite his tongue. He's already been in one crossfire today, after all. He strode for Legolas' laptop and immediately began to work; Adrian Aarons was coming by soon, and he's going to want some explanations.

* * *

The cops came over, because someone reported the sounds of gunfire. By the time they arrived, Legolas, Elrohir and Elladan wisely kept away, and Adrian remained to feed the cops some cock-and-bull story about how he's been having problems from fundamentalists who didn't appreciate his last journal and investigation into some new medical technologies.

They accepted it for now and advised him to take a few days off work and let emotions cool down a bit. They weren't incredibly worried, though they did fill his place with ballistics people who gathered bullet, after bullet, after bullet, after bullet…

Adrian shuddered at the thought of how closely he came to meeting his maker. He called Brad, who was still a bit hung over from their night out. His old friend was quick to sober up (_as he had_!) after the news, though, and as per Legolas' suggestion, the two of them, along with Fred, went to the Detective's apartment. They entered the building just as the sun was rising, and Greene met them at the door.

"They're with me, Joshua," Legolas said to the doorman, smiling at the three new arrivals with some reserve.

"You got a party going on up there, Detective?" Joshua asked him.

"It's all work," Legolas replied easily, ushering in Fred, Bard and Adrian to the elevators.

"Fancy digs for a cop," Brad commented, looking about the building and the opulent furnishings. Adrian was himself surprised, although he was trying to convince himself that nothing should be a surprise anymore.

"So where'd all this come from?" Adrian asked, "Not the taxpayers, I hope."  
"No," Legolas replied, "I have other sources of income."  
"Drug trafficking?" Adrian said dryly, "Bioengineering? Are you some kind of a crooked cop?"  
"Don't be snide," Legolas said evenly, "All will be explained. The situation's changed. We need each other, and we need each other's information too."

* * *

"Freeze, LAPD," Elladan said the very moment Legolas stepped into the apartment.

"Very funny, _mellon-nin_," Legolas said wryly, leading Brad and Fred inside, "Really."

"What happened to the old, silent, stealthy warrior-elf, hm?" Elrohir asked.

"This is my town, you forget," Legolas replied, "I have responsibilities. And nowadays, they find a body in your house with your bullet in it even for whatever the reason, the headache is yours."

The group of eight crowded Detective Greene's spacious, minimalist living room. Elrohir had the stage, and he asked Adrian Aarons if he ever kept in touch with his relatives in Europe.

"I have relatives in Europe?" the doctor asked back, "Family's been in America as long as anyone cares to remember."  
"Well you do have relatives in Europe," said Elrohir, "That's where you all came from."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Fred asked.

"Don't even let me get started on the pair of you," Elrohir muttered, "Um. Is your father still alive?"

"Later," Legolas snapped, not quite wanting to get into that _other_ crazed situation just yet.

"Last year," said Elrohir, "All your distant male relatives perished in some strange occurrence or other. I am talking quite a lot of men here."

Adrian Aarons frowned. "I am very sorry for that. Truly I am. But you could very well be talking about strangers to me. Accidents happen all the time. I could hardly feel greatly bothered by the deaths of strangers."

"I'd be pretty damn bothered if I were you," Elrohir said as he swiveled the LCD of the laptop his way, showing him the faces of his dead kin. One after the other, they resembled Estel in some manner. One after the other, they resembled _him_.

"They look nothing like me—" he was lying, except the two companions who sat with him cursed and muttered.

"Holy crap!" Brad breathed, "Holy crap."

Fred shook his head in disbelief looking at the faces closer, wordlessly commandeering the laptop for a closer inspection. He looked at the pictures, looked at the dates, looked at the profiles of some. He found them believable enough.

"They do look an awful lot like you," he said To Adrian in a low voice.

"Last night and this morning's _incidents_," said Elrohir, "Were not aimed at ruining, or stealing the samples that came from us. They were geared toward your demise."

"Well I don't know what the hell for!" Adrian retorted.

Legolas frowned. _Where do I start_…

"They are after the heirs of a man named Aragorn," said Elrohir tentatively.

"Heirs?" Adrian asked, "Does this mean my mother could be in danger?"  
"They do not touch the women," Legolas said, "But just in case, her house is being watched."

"Her house is being watched?" Adrian's eyes widened in barely-restrained anger, "Her house is being—"

"I'm going to tell you something you need to hear," Legolas said to him sternly, "And you can either believe it or not. But I am telling you, expressly, that one way or another, whoever is behind this will try and get you, and at this point you can rely on nobody else but us."

"Try me," Adrian declared boldly.

And Legolas did. With great earnestness, and using just the most necessary of details (_i.e._, _leaving out the rather difficult parts of Boromir, and Faramir and Denethor_), he told the War of the Ring, and the passing of the years ironically to one of its greatest movers. When he concluded, he waited for a reaction with bated breath.

Adrian Aarons laughed, and heartily at that.

"I know," Anatalia sighed, "That's what I thought."

"You think," Adrian struggled as he caught his breath, "You actually _think_, that I am some… some _reincarnation_ of this great guy? A guy so great, whose done so much, that he's not even in our history books, hm? And that we're all back here to stop some big weird evil? And you want me to _believe_ that you guys are a bunch of elves? God! You'd better be glad I have a good sense of humor, because otherwise, I'd really be pissed at you, not only for wasting my time, not only for making light of a really bad-assed situation on my part, but also for thinking I'm an idiot and expecting me to buy this crap."

Legolas looked at Elrond's twins helplessly, with ill-concealed grief in his icy eyes. There was so much disappointment there, so much powerless anger. How can one be made to believe?

"Listen to me," Elrohir said suddenly, "You," he pointed to Fred and Brad, "Are brothers, right? I'll play you a mean card because I need you to get this into your heads. Does your father's name begin with a D? Is he a bit of an a-hole?"

"You will not talk about him this way!" Brad snapped.

"You would say that," Elrohir said boldly, "Because he likes you more. Oh, you all know it and if you ask him blankly, he won't deny it. He's kind of stern, and well, since you're all doctors you likely took up psychology as a pre-med, you _know_ he's got an issue or two."

"This does not prove anything," Fred pointed out, irked at how annoyingly close the observations/guesses/assumptions were.

"This might," Anatalia piped in. She tossed the three gentlemen Legolas' photographs. No one even noticed her slipping out of the room for a moment. "These were auctioned off by a reputable auctioning house, which means they've been dated and are beyond reproach. If you want the papers, I can have them faxed to you." she gave them her card. "This is who I am and unlike the other _shady_ characters here, _that_ you can really look up. I know how you feel. I found out about this just days ago. It's fantasy, its fiction, yes. But think about it. What if it's not, hm? What if they're right? What if you're supposed to be doing something? Tell you what. Practically speaking, it's a fact that you don't have a lab right now, do you? And you've been advised by the cops to lay off work for a while? So my advice to you is ride with it. If it yields nothing, then you had an interesting vacation. If it yields something, then you did something right."

The three men did not say anything for a long while. She said things that were admittedly true.

"I'm aiming for an interesting vacation," Adrian said sardonically.

"Good," she breathed, glancing up at Elladan, "Good."

* * *

The whole bloody apartment was cramped.

Leland Greene was not going to let the three new members of his curious, crazy crusade out of his sight. The good thing was, they were only staying thus for a night; they needed the libraries (_not to mention the space!_) of Imladris, and they were jetting off to Austria the very next day. It was all relatively smooth sailing, since Fred, Bard, Adrian and Anatalia had certifiable passports. Elrohir, Elladan and Legolas had papers that were crafted by the best of the underground. Elrohir and Elladan had their contacts in Europe but Legolas, for one, has been with the same running U.S. company for years and paid handsomely for the unquestionable quality of the contraband work. It was in this way that Legolas made a few calls, and secured a passport for Gandalf in no time. They were going to Imladris yet again.

Unable to sleep, though, Anatalia found herself drifting toward the bar for a night cap, and was surprised to find her lover's brother making good friends with a bottle of Legolas' finest brandy.

"Come over and join us," Elrohir told her with a smile.

"Is that your girlfriend?" she teased.

"Brandy," Elrohir declared, "Anatalia. Anatalia, brandy."

He poured her a glass, which she took gratefully, saying, "Thank you. I cannot seem to fall asleep."

"Oh this will knock you out real good," he promised her, "Legolas goes only for the very best."

She took a sip, watching his lonely, lined face. He looked troubled. "Aren't you supposed to be the funny one?"

He looked at her ironically. "I'm finding fewer and fewer things to laugh about. Elladan and I… we should have taken more care. Now they are all dead."

She knew now what it was that had bothered him. Elladan, the night previous, had told her of the events that was told to Adrian Aarons just this morn. But Elladan also told of how he and Elrohir stayed to look after the heirs of their younger brother.

She could not dispute that a lot of them were dead. She wouldn't insult his intelligence, or trivialize his hurts. Instead, she said, "But there is one still. Elladan knows this. So do you."

"Aye," he agreed, "And I'm sure you know by now what I mean if I say that… that there really isn't anything new about that. One little shred of hope against fantastical odds. All it takes is one."

"I do know what you mean," she affirmed, smiling slightly.

"You did good this morning," he said, "Especially for one who's been plunged headfirst into this herself."

"I love your brother," she told him easily, "I care about the things that mean greatly to him."

"Do you have a twin?" he asked her jauntily.

"No," she laughed, "At least, not that I know of."

He sighed melodramatically. "Well you know, with reincarnations and strange acquaintances popping out of the woodworks, one can always hope."

"As you always have," she said wistfully, taking in a huge gulp of her fare, "But I am wondering… what in the world I am doing here."

Elrohir frowned. "What of it?"

"Everyone here," she replied, "has either lived forever, or lived once before, and have this… this definite _place_, this great part to play. I'm like… I'm like… this spectator, an accessory, this… this… _incidentally-here_ character. You know, like one of those 'girlfriend' roles in the cinema."

He smiled at her knowingly. "I hate ending up sounding like Gandalf, right? It makes me feel old. But anyone here is meant to be here. Wait and see."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Massive thanks for reading and the reviews!!! I have a feeling I'm nearing completion of the story… I'm working on chapter 24 :) hopefully I'll be done soon and it turns out as quality work. Everytime I read reviews I just get so excited to post the next parts and to write it until I end. I've not left a fic unfinished yet so thank you very, very much for the fire :) so two chapters this post… have fun with it, review if you find the inclination :) Chapter 15, my next post after this pair of chapters, welcomes more familiar faces, this time from Rohan :) 'til then!!! :)


	14. He's There, You're Not

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

14: He's There, You're Not

Flight, L.A. to Vienna

Mid-2004

* * *

Anatalia's cell phone rang, and she excused herself from the conversation with Elladan to speak to her barking and loving father.

'Where the hell have you been?' he asked her in Italian, 'I thought you've been abducted or murdered and dumped by that terrible man.'

She laughed nervously. 'I'm on a plane to Austria, Papa. I'm alive. I did leave word that I was taking a vacation.'

'Your mother was very worried,' Marcelo said.

'No she wasn't," Anatalia countered, 'She's actually very flippant about all this. I think she is dying for a grandson.'

'I did not hear that,' her father retorted, 'get back to work, child. I need you to go to an event for me. Its tomorrow night, in Rome. I will leave tickets for you and that despicable boy.'

'He's kind of busy…' she said tentatively.

'This is very important, Ana,' Marcelo said, 'Leave him if you must, I'd even be all the happier for it.'

'I bet,' she said sarcastically, 'I'll see what I can do. I love you. Send my hugs to mama.'

She hung up the phone, and turned to the open-faced elf sitting beside her.

"Did you know," he said, "that I can pick up about, say, one in every three words of Italian?"

"So many secrets," she chuckled, "I have to get back to work. Some people do that, darling."

He smirked at her shamelessly. "You said something about me being busy."

"It's a party," she replied, "One of those quasi-business types. I have to be there. You're invited too, but I know you're in the middle of something. Do not worry about it, all right? I have it covered. I can see you in a few days."

"Besides," he said dryly, "Your father couldn't possibly hate me any more than he already does."

"Actually," she grinned, "The less time we spend together, the more he'll like you."

* * *

Imladris,

Mid-2004

* * *

They took Elrohir's BMW and a cab to Imladris, since Elrohir, Elladan and Legolas did not really expect to return with 'additional baggage.' Anatalia stayed in the airport to fly to Rome, which made them one less but still unable to fit in the sporty car. Nevertheless, they all did arrive to where it was they were going, and the new arrivals looked up at the estate with awe.

"Welcome home," Elrohir helplessly said to Adrian, who stared at him, perplexed.

"That's kind of creepy," the _adan_ commented.

Halvor welcomed them and recognized the King of Men. With wide eyes, he bowed before Adrian murmuring in elvish, 'My lord.'

"That's creepier, isn't it?" Elrohir grinned at Adrian, taking him by the arm and steering him up to Estel's old room.

"What did he say?" Adrian asked.

"He said 'my lord,'" said Elrohir.

"This is like getting Punk'd," Adrian muttered.

* * *

Legolas watched The _adan_ from the vantage point of one of Imladris' grander balconies. Adrian was walking about the grounds and gardens, pensively. The sun was setting and the gracious land was awash in glorious gold, and a kingly man strolled through it in search of something he did not yet know.

Estel. Imladris. 2004. They're like a trio of unlikely dreams caught together in the restless night of a blue moon— having one was rare enough, two was virtually impossible and three… three simply _does not happen_.

_And yet here we are_.

He watched the body of an old friend walk through the lands of an old life with a new mind, likely a new soul. The sight was a comfort, the reality a persistent ache. More contrasts, there.

Step forward, step back. He paced, swayed, almost uncertain of staying or leaving. Maybe Adrian was thinking, Was it getting too dark? Was it still light out enough? Was he getting too cold? Was he needed inside?

Adrian wrung his wrists, curious little habit that did not quite fit with the more certain and driven Estel. Indeed, Legolas was at a loss with how to deal with an Aragorn who did not know what to do. And he was-- realizing just now—just as much at a loss over being in a position of sudden leadership.

_Do I go to you_, Legolas wondered, suddenly realizing that he too, despite the old body, the old soul, the full-knowing, was just as uncertain of what to do, just as much in search of something he was yet unsure of.

Taking a deep breath, he went out to the grounds himself, and made it just in time, since the _adan_ was already making his way back into the house, and they met at the door.

"Is there anything at all that you remember?" Legolas asked him quietly.

"I'm new here," Adrian said with an apologetic smile, "I'm sure whoever it is you think I am, I'm not it. Maybe I'm just like, the default guy. I mean, everyone else is dead…"

"Maybe you're just being stubborn," Legolas insisted, "If you open yourself up to the possibilities, mayhap dreams would come to you, distant memories. Such that when you walk here, when you touch things, you know you've been around once before. I have an idea. Something that once was truly and absolutely yours lies in rest here in the house. Perhaps you and I, we can go--"

"Listen," Adrian cut him off, beginning to get irritated, "It doesn't happen that way. I live in the real world. Or if you think your world is just as real then let me put it another way to you. I live in the _now_ world. You sound like a new-age quack doctor. 'Open yourself up,' 'let down your guard,' et cetera. I am here, aren't I? And I find that nothing here matters to me any more than that I find them beautiful. None of these was ever mine. None of the memories you talk about. None of anything that you've said to me. And this face," he motioned at himself, "This is _mine_ now, to do with as I will. Your friend is dead. It's my time. Accept it."

Legolas set his jaws in annoyance, possibly even in repressed anger. The man's irritation, his indignation was justifiable, the elf tried to convince himself, tried desperately to understand. Adrian Aarons didn't know what he was talking about, it's all right. He'll find out…

_He'll see_, Legolas thought determinedly, _He'll see._

"I'm just me," Adrian said, in turn thinking,

You'll_ see_.

* * *

Elrohir looked up from his fervent reading in the library to find Brad just entering the vast space, bearing a steaming and enticing cup of coffee and looking around with interest in his fiery eyes. The _adan_ did not seem to know he was not alone, and Elrohir watched him a long moment.

Brad ran his fingers reverently atop the opulent tables, the intricate frames. Curiously, Elrohir found him drifting and pausing by the section of the library that kept the records of the Third Age, particularly the War of the Ring in which Brad's likeness –Boromir- played an important part.

Elrohir's skinned crawled… it was like seeing a ghost that did not know it was dead. Absently, Brad ran his fingers over the books, mind not knowing what they contained though it seemed the body somehow did.

_Great_, Elrohir thought, not quite appreciating the irony that the one guy he did not want to remind of the past seemed to be the only one remembering it.

"Good morning," Elrohir greeted him suddenly, making him jump just a little. Brad cursed at the steaming coffee that spilled over his fingers, and Elrohir winced a bit at the imagined scolding he'd get from Lord Elrond should that drink have gone to the books instead.

"Sorry," said the elf sheepishly.

"It's your house," Brad shrugged, walking over coolly and looking over Elrohir's work, only to find them in Elvish and therefore, incomprehensible. "What is that? Some kind of Arabic? Rune? Some secret language you and your brother invented 'cos you rich brats didn't have anything else to do?"

"Ha," said Elrohir, "It's Elvish."

"Right," Brad said in mock seriousness, "Right. So you elves. When Santa makes his list in English and checks it twice, and he gives it to you guys so you can make toys, how do you understand it then?"

Elrohir bared his teeth at the _adan_. But did not dispute that the facts were indeed hard to believe. He really was as likely as a Santa Clause or an Easter Bunny.

"You saw the test, lab rat," Elrohir snapped, "You know there's something different about me."

Brad shrugged. "There are a lot of things that are yet to be documented."  
"And there are other things that have been forgotten," Elrohir pointed out, "Why are you being so clever anyway? You're here already, some part of you must think it's remotely possible."

Brad shrugged. "My friend is here, isn't he? Idiot needs some looking after. And well my brother's here too, 'cos he thinks _I_ need looking after. And then there's this little thing of someone blasting the hell out of my workplace. I really might as well."

"What would you do if everything we told you was true, hm?" Elrohir asked. "What then?"

"Then it's true," Brad said simply, chuckling a little, "And anyway, it's not my problem since you'd likely tell me what to do then too." He nodded at Elrohir's work. "So. What are you looking for?"

"I'm looking for any entry in these annals that could possibly resemble our situation," Elrohir answered, "You know, reincarnated heroes, et cetera, et cetera. I want to see under what context it was done, what they did, who their foes were."

"Reincarnated heroes?" Brad smirked. "Including me?"

Elrohir smiled slightly, "Yes, including you."

"I'm flattered," Brad said, "But I'm not crazy."

"I'm also," said Elrohir distractedly, "looking for ways of… well, I've been looking at potions and spells. The kind that remind people of who they once were. The situation is hard enough, without us constantly having to encounter complaints and disbelief from within our own ranks." He paused in thought, "Brad… is this place not familiar to you at all?"

Brad shook his head. "This mausoleum? No."

Elrohir sighed, glanced at his work. He was yielding nothing of importance. Surely this incident has happened at least once before?

_I mean everything and everyone is happening twice_, he thought exasperatedly, _Why__ can't I get any supporting document that could help me, at least…_

Elrohir and Brad looked up at the arrival of Elladan, who was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt, having come from a drive to a nearby, back-country bread shop that he loved to frequent. He was holding the basket of fantastic-smelling breads on one hand, and a tabloid on the other.

"Good morning," Elladan greeted the pair, sitting down upon one of the elaborate desks strewn about the room, putting down his bread basket and lifting up the tabloid table of contents that featured Anatalia's photograph on the corner. "You see? That's my girl."

His twin rolled back his eyes, and looked at Brad sardonically. "Can that face get any prouder?"

"Yeah, it can look exactly like yours," Brad said coolly.

"Hey brother," said Elrohir, nodding at the cover Elladan was still looking fondly upon, "Are you blind? Isn't there a guy posing with her over there?"

"Grissom Warrington," Elladan read dispassionately, "Vice President of Fortress Defense Systems International, with Miss Anatalia Craxi, President of Craxi Publishing, wearing a stunning vintage Valentino. See page 11."

"I haven't seen _you_ in the papers," Elrohir teased, "Wasn't that photo from her party last night? How quickly you've been replaced."

"Oh, but he's old," Elladan pointed out, making Brad's eyebrows raise in disbelief.

"Aren't you a hypocrite," said the _adan_.

"So _now_ you believe we're old!" Elrohir exclaimed triumphantly, "Just when it's convenient for you!"

"I think I walked into some other conversation," Elladan murmured, glancing at Anatalia's photograph.

It was at that moment that Fred and Adrian stepped into the room, looking fresh and wide-awake.

"What's the commotion all about?" Fred asked.

"Ana's replaced Elladan!" Elrohir said excitedly, wanting to get a rise out of his twin.

Adrian craned his neck to look at the photograph. "He's got nothing to the look of you, Elladan."

The elf grinned. "That's why you've always been my favorite."  
"Then again," Adrian added in a sing-song way, "He's there. You're not."

Elrohir laughed aloud shamelessly, just as Legolas and Gandalf entered the room each bearing a cup of tea.

"Legolas!" Elrohir exclaimed, "Gandalf, look! Ana's—"

"Oh go do something else," Elladan retorted, folding over the page, "It's getting old, _brother_."

"You say that word with such clever spite," said Elrohir, "Careful I might one day take it seriously and thereafter take offense."

Legolas smirked at the exchange, turning to Elrohir expectantly. "Ana's what?"

"She's replaced him," Elrohir replied impishly, to Elladan's dismay.

"At least he's not very good looking," Adrian pointed out.

"But then again," laughed Brad, saying it alongside Elrohir, "He's there and you're not."

"Don't you folk have anything better to do?" Elladan asked.

Elrohir sighed. "I've been reading since before dawn. I suppose you can say I've been craving for levity."

"That ought to account for your particularly ill-behaved predisposition," Elladan said.

Laughing, Legolas took the tabloid from Elladan and leafed to the page until he came upon the picture in question.

For an elf who's always had an eye and great appreciation for beauty, it must have been quite a stunning fellow Anatalia Craxi had for a companion such that Legolas did not even notice the Italian beauty beside him. His head shot up toward Gandalf in alarm, and the wizard's brows rose in inquiry.

"Call her," Legolas said to Elladan urgently, "Call her," he repeated, striding over to Gandalf and showing him the photograph. Anatalia Craxi was smiling blindingly and beguilingly, wearing her _stunning vintage Valentino_ as she was standing next to Grima Wormtongue.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	15. Constructive Affairs

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

15: Constructive Affairs

Imladris, Mid-2004

* * *

If he had wings, he'd be flying over Milan right now.

But blessed though he was, Elladan could not soar, and he settled simply for his tri-band cell phone. He stood in a corner of the room, looking cool and calm except for the fact that Elrohir knew him better, and he kept watch over his twin protectively from a distance, giving him the space he needed to think and to calm himself.

"That's a kind of dubious name for a guy," Adrian commented, glancing at Elladan's corner worriedly.

Elrohir took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, shaking his head in disbelief. "I did not even know who he was when I saw the photograph. We've never crossed paths."

"Who is that person?" Fred asked.

"He once poisoned the mind of a great king," said Gandalf gravely, "a traitor to his own people. He was very nearly their great downfall. But it is too soon to be alarmed," Gandalf said to Legolas soothingly, "He might need awakening, as they all do. He might also never even know of his past, and live the rest of his life as a good man."

"If that is so," Legolas retorted, "Then we can also deduce the converse to be true. Those who were once good could now be bad."

Adrian looked at him pointedly, and recalled yesterday's heated conversation. He wondered if the elf was simply stating an observation, or taking a jab at him.

Elrohir shook his head. "The situation is already convoluted enough without everybody switching places!"

"Ana!" Elladan suddenly exclaimed, and everyone fell silent and turned to him. "Oh thank the Valar…" the elf breathed, pausing to listen to the other end before saying, "The Valar? They're like your god—" he cut himself off in irritation, "You're distracting me! Are you all right? I leave you alone for a night and…"

Legolas exhaled in relief, tuning the rest of the personal conversation out. He was still gripping the tabloid, and he flipped past the table of contents and looked at the rest of the article (_in page 11…_) more closely, and looking at the other pictures.

_Last night, Chairman Emeritus of Fortress Defense Systems International Teodoro Rigare, celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday with a glorious bang. High society flocked from all across __Europe__ in their couture best, crowding the halls of the ballroom in such brilliant shine and numbers that rivaled the starry evening sky._

_The grand evening began with a speech in honor of _Teddy_, from his lovely and beloved niece Eunice, who is also the chairperson of the Fortress Children's Foundation. This was quickly followed by a sumptuous eleven-course meal of two kinds of soup, two kinds of salad, four entrees and three desserts. The very memory of Chef Arandi of the Ricciardone Group's masterpieces makes me wish to rewind the glorious evening_…

Legolas skimmed through the litany of a menu, and the name-dropping of stars and starlets, politicians and big businessmen. He was beginning to have a greater idea of what he was looking to see.

Teddy_ looked mightily happy, despite the noticeable and glaring absence of his nephew and successor Emmett, Eunice's brother, who is said to be feeling a bit under the weather. But _Teddy_'s right hand side was not bare, however, and was more than covered by his dashing Vice President Grissom Warrington, who gave our honoree a touching toast._

Legolas' eyes drifted to a photograph of 'Teddy,' 'Eunice' and 'Grissom.' Sure enough, his eyes fell upon the photograph of Theoden of Rohan, Grima Wormtongue, and a demurely smiling, uncomfortable-seeming Eowyn between them.

_That would make the missing 'Emmett' Eomer of Rohan too,_ Legolas reflected, _And__ this gives us a fresh slant to investigate: Fortress Defense Systems International_.

* * *

"It almost makes sense," said Fred, "In a distorted kind of way."

Legolas frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"For old empires and kingdoms," replied Fred, "To have modern incarnations in a big business empire. More than the old monarchies, these are the new kings."

"Well where's my business empire?" said Adrian wryly.

"You're not of the line of the first sons," Elrohir pointed out, "And though you're now the last male left, times have changed and business empires can now be inherited by women too."

The six friends sat about the widest of the tables; Elladan was packing in a mad rush toward Italy, not heeding Elrohir's teases that Anatalia's stayed alive this long, she likely did not need him. The basket of bread was practically emptied before them, as the two remaining elves and the wizard began an engaging conversation the three tentatively-believing humans found hard to resist.

It was Fred who was intrigued first, and gave his clever insights comfortably, without heeding the fact that he was beginning to sound as crazy as the other three. Brad kept silent, but hung about expectantly, just as Adrian did. To consider all these things, the doctor thought, would likely be laughable in the future. In the meantime, his curiosity, as it always did, triumphed over him and he remained in the strange group having a strange and otherworldly conversation.

Besides, he reasoned, each of the three of them found compelling reasons to stay— Elrohir's observations about Brad and Fred's family life came too close for one who was not supposed to know anything about them at all. The photographs of Adrian's murdered relatives certainly gave the 'elves' some credence too. He was also beginning to find some remarkable similarities between the story of _The War of the Ring_ he was told some days ago, to the familiar names of himself, Fred, Brad, even those Romans Teodoro, Eunice, Emmett and Grissom from the tabloids just this morning.

_Ride with it_, the clever Italian woman had said, _If__ it yields nothing, then you had an interesting vacation. If it yields something, then you did something right._

"So what do we know about these guys?" Adrian asked.

Legolas, who had brought his computer from Los Angeles, hooked it up to the Internet and was browsing through some files and news on Fortress International.

"They make weapons," Legolas said with a slight wince, thinking _that could not be good at all_.

"Head office in Rome," Legolas continued, "some manufacturing facilities all over the world… Big innovators, they often just sell their designs to arms manufacturers although lately, they've also been taking contracts to mass produce some weapons for the world's best-equipped first-world armies."

"I can't believe they have a Children's Foundation," said Brad.

"Well the organization is perfectly legitimate," Legolas pointed out, "Clean records, no links to terrorists or things like that. It's also very important to keep up a good public image. But there really isn't anything particularly off about them, just… this little skirmish with the Union. Pretty standard. A lockout in one of its facilities."

"It's too clean," Elrohir said, "I mean, no black market arms dealing, no suits or cases… Nothing remarkable, nothing different… Fate cannot possibly lead us here and show us absolutely nothing."

"But if this Teodoro is even just slightly like Theoden," said Legolas, "There should be no complaints from the employees."  
"Similarly," said Elrohir, "If Grissom Warrington is anything like Grima Wormtongue… there's a big problem hidden in there somewhere."  
"Well if this is all we have…" said Fred, "What else can we do?"

Elrohir grinned at him smugly. "You know the guys I get to fix our papers, secure my computer files, stuff like that? Little company, very much consistently reliable. I have hackers in the payroll, my friends. It's time to turn to the underground. Is that fine with you, Detective Greene or are you going to arrest me?"  
"I have a group that takes care of my papers too, remember?" Legolas said wryly, "I feel it's a bit of a service, actually. You know, someone really ought to get those incredible minds into more constructive affairs."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

HEY GUYS!!! Thank you once again for the super encouraging reviews. You're really the best and I'm glad to betting feedback since this fic is such a leap in experimentation for me. keep them coming if you can, but more than anything, I'm just thankful for your reading time. I know we're all very busy.

Well as I forgot I made this out to be a real short chapter so surprise… you get two chapters this post :) chapter 17 will welcome Eeomer into the slowly forming team :) 'til then!!!


	16. Espionage

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

16: Espionage

Imladris, Mid-2004

* * *

_You have new mail_.

The day was going to be an interesting, particularly informative one, Elrohir guessed. Anatalia was coming home with Elladan today, and he just received the reply from the gifted hacker he's commissioned to find out more about Fortress International, and the murder of Estel's relatives.

Grimacing, he scanned through the multitude of files—the hacker was, after all, paid to gather a multitude of information, _not_ to read them and give him an executive summary.

Elrohir effectively had hundreds of police reports, ten years' worth of financial statements, ten years' worth of minutes of the board meetings, reports and briefings on the issues and operations of every manufacturing facility they had worldwide, a list of all their employees, a list of all their clients, an inventory of all their works in progress, blueprints of their weapon designs, a following of their stock market performance for the last decade…

_I'm going to be cross-eyed when I'm done_, he decided.

Legolas, who was sitting beside him, sighed audibly, likely thinking the same thing.

"We have to delegate," the Mirkwood elf decided.

"I get first dibs on the graphs," Elrohir said sardonically, "You can have all the text."

"Gracious of you," Legolas murmured, copying the files to his own laptop. "But this is work made for more than two. Our friends have been very helpful so far. Perhaps they can also contribute thus."

Elrohir winced. "Yes. Work delegation sounds about right. I mean, we're trying to look at old Elvish texts for a phenomenon like this, right? And we're also trying to find what mission could possibly be in store for us through Fortress International, right? And we're also trying to investigate Estel's family's assassination. And then there's that big, troubling, yawning gap about what link one has with the other. I'm thinking on five dimensions here, _mellon-nin_. I'm starting to get the feeling I really have no idea where to start. It's like, all the players are here, but we're still waiting for the rules of the game."

* * *

Elladan and Anatalia returned that afternoon to find everyone in the house busy with work. Elrohir was focused upon the Elvish texts that looked for a situation comparable to the one they were in, while Legolas focused on searching for spells and potions to make their 'forgetful' friends remember who they once were. Adrian was looking through all the weapons Fortress International has made and designed over the years and were developing at present, as well as their list of clients and researching on possible links to terrorist organizations or the black market. Fred and Brad (because it really would have been a tad bit morbid to assign the task to Adrian), were looking into the deaths of Estel's line, studying the circumstances and common suspects. Gandalf had a good handle upon the board meeting minutes, the list of key employees, the briefings from the offices and facilities all over the world.

Ana, they welcomed back with a thick sheaf of papers, deciding she would understand the financial statements and stock markets best of all. She took it from a grinning Elrohir.

"What am I looking for?" she asked him wryly.

"Anything anomalous," replied the elf.

"You want some rumors that you _cannot_ find in reports and papers?" she asked, "Craxi Multinational researches on every possible thing before making key investments. My father asked me to go to the Fortress party to gather gossip and hear the talk. _That_ is where the best information is."

The other members of the group looked up from their work, finding the premise interesting and the temporary distraction a well-deserved rest.

"People say there's going to be a big shift," said Anatalia, "No one's sure exactly where and how, but it's happening very soon, and Fortress is going to be right in the middle of it. We're talking about the premiere weapons and military technology company in the world here, and with all the things going on with wars and all the fears of terrorism… if someone is going to earn big, it's going to be them."

"What exactly do they do?" Brad asked.

"Up until just a couple of years ago," said Anatalia, "They just had the best military research and development labs in the world. We're talking about hand weapons, bombs, guns, tanks, armored vehicles, planes, ships, software and hardware, even developing food rations, space food… anything you could possibly link to armed force, they can make and develop. They were often subcontracted to improve on something, or they developed their designs and thereafter sold them. But a few years ago, they expanded to mass manufacturing their goods too."

"Most of the facilities are less than ten years old," put in Gandalf.

"The expansion was attributed to your favorite guy," she said to Elladan, "Grissom Warrington, who rose among the ranks very quickly. He's the ambitious kind, brilliant, yes, but you're never quite sure what he's after. Anyway, Fortress stocks soared, he managed to make Teodoro three or four times richer, so they kept him around. But then, the rumors are, Teodoro's nephew Emmett, who is the heir to the family fortune since Teodoro has no child of his own, absolutely despises Warrington and they always step on each other's toes. Emmett is active in the Unions, his employees all adore him, they'll follow him to the ends of the Earth. He's against downsizing, lay-offs, full contractualizing of labor, et cetera. And then here comes Warrington, who's only after all the profits and cutting down costs. The rumors of last night was that Emmett got into a heated argument with Teodoro some days ago for several reasons: first, Emmett is instrumental in the lockout of one of their plants in Italy, so his uncle was not too pleased about that. And then, Emmett compounded it by tossing out accusations over his uncle's 'pet' Warrington, saying that the man was a spy and working for somebody else. Teodoro, of course given what Warrington's done for the business so far, refused to believe it. So Emmett brings it down to an ultimatum: me or him. Well. Warrington was at the party last night, Emmett was not."

"Why would Emmett think Warrington's a spy?" Legolas asked.

"Well someone's been secretly hoarding Fortress stock," Anatalia replied, "They've been making the right decisions, buying at the right price, the right time. Almost as if they were working on insider information, or industrial espionage. It's a crime, yes, but it is not altogether uncommon. Maybe Emmett has some proof. Anyway, I wouldn't call it a big world-threatening evil, eh?"

Elladan frowned. "But we're talking about some unknown person trying to buy out the best weapons facilities in the world."

"Where's Emmett now?" Fred asked.

"Nursing his pride off somewhere," Ana replied, "I think I know just the place. You know why? It's because he's a bachelor, and he's wealthy beyond belief. That means all the particularly cunning single high society young women looking for a good catch to please their mummies and daddies always know where he is. They have waiters, and country club staff, and concierges on their payroll, you know. Clever, wealthy young women make the best spies."

Elladan grinned at her pointedly, but said nothing.

* * *

Emmett Rigare's paradise of choice was a small inn overlooking the Mediterranean sea near the tail-end of Italy. It was one of those charming little places situated along a sloping hill lined by layers of pleasant old houses facing the beautiful waters. It was one of the best harbor paradises in Europe. It was quiet, located in a waterfront town with winding ways barely large enough to fit a car, but it was hardly quaint.

_Especially_, Anatalia figured, _since many of their clients were of the high society female kind, considering their patron was the heir to a thriving multinational company. _

Elladan studied the amenities on their website. "Who's going?"  
"Me, of course," Ana said primly, "So it won't be suspicious. I'd look just like any other girl there. Except… older."

"That means he won't give you the time of day," Elrohir smirked.

"People always give me the time of day," she told him boldly.

Elladan laughed. "Be that as it may, Ana, if he sets eyes on your photograph with Grissom Warrington, he won't be very much pleased with you."

Fred, who was leafing through the said article intently, looked up at them. "I could go."

Gandalf's brows rose, and Legolas noted it with some measure of nervousness. A clever wizard armed with an even cleverer idea was a dangerous, dangerous thing.

"A good idea, my boy," said the wizard, "the best, the very best. Two men amidst a sea of hungry young women would likely find some comradeship."

Legolas stared at the wizard at length. "No, not alone."  
"None of the elves should go," Anatalia said, "There's always _paparazzi_ there, given the company. We have to be as discreet as possible, eh? I found _you_," she nodded to Legolas"In that way, after all."

"And not Adrian," said Legolas, "We still don't know who's after you." He turned to Brad. "Are you up to the task?"

"Two brothers in a fancy Italian inn surrounded by beautiful, rich women," Brad said wryly, "Do you even need to ask?"

"We will stay in a place nearby," Legolas guaranteed them, "In case you run into trouble."

* * *

Messina, Sicily

Mid-2004

* * *

It was not very hard to find Emmett Rigare. Brad supposed the brash fellow who looked to be ill-suffering the attentions of beautiful young women in the lobby had to be him since there was no other male there but him and Fred.

The American took his time— Brad figured Rigare seemed a bit averse to any forward action from women, and likely men too. Quietly, barely paying the man he was spying on any real mind, he strode up to a clever bar and had a glass of red wine.

_I could get used to this_, he thought to himself wryly. The vacation part was truly great, although undoubtedly, the company of paranoid elves and a quirky wizard was too bizarre for his taste.

Fred was taking care of their reservations. It was a miracle they even found a room, but then again, it was Anatalia Craxi who made a call, and he suspected the woman had concierges and staff on her own payroll (_the question was, of course, if she had ever been as much of a predator as the other women here_).

"Thank you," Fred smiled at the desk man, who handed him his keys—_not_ key cards, mind, for it seemed they had an affinity for the more austere. He was just turning around to find his brother, when he ran headlong into a woman, and at the very touch of their flesh, at the very scent of her hair, the very sight of the color of her eyes… he ran headlong into a much beloved memory too.

_Eowyn_, the name seemed to spring to his mind, and it sounded like a dream, it sounded like a destiny. But it was _his _dream, and _his_ destiny, all locked in her wide and searching eyes.

_Do you believe in love at first sight_ is a silly question until one meets up with it face to face.

He caught her by the arms to steady her, to steady himself, and he searched her eyes in wonder if she felt the same. Her gaze was turbulent, awash in emotions that were hers and yet also persistently not.

_Who are you_, they seemed to ask, _Who__ am I…_

"I'm sorry," he managed to say.

Her lips quirked to a nervous smile, and she backed away a step, leaning over her fallen things, and her voice was muffled as she said, "It's quite all right."

He leaned over to aid her. And she laughed nervously and said that it was all fine, she just should have watched where she was going. But he picked up her things and they stayed in his hands, so eager was he to aid her.

Her eyes narrowed teasingly at him. "Are you a bellboy or a thief, mister?"

He chuckled, and said he was only trying to help, and she said, "No one really does that much nowadays."

It was at this moment that Emmett Rigare strode over, and the crowds of females parted for him like the Red Sea to the fingers of God. His eyes were warm upon his sister and simply frigid cold upon Fred.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked.

"It was an accident," 'Eowyn' said to him, "We ran into each other, and he was helping me reclaim my things. Emmett, this is Faramir. And Faramir, this is my older brother."

_Faramir__?_ Fred thought, his heart suddenly pounding. But his voice was steady as he said, "It's Fred."

"I'm sorry," she said, flushing endearingly, "Right. I… I did not know what came over me."

_Yes_, Fred thought, _considering we never even introduced ourselves._

Emmett took his sister's bags from Fred. "We have it covered."

"I will see you around… Eowyn," Fred dared.

"It's Eunice," she corrected him, sounding just as puzzled as he was when she had called upon him with a strange and different name.

Emmett watched them with ill-concealed dismay as he ushered his sister toward her suite. They were walking away when Brad met up with his brother and asked, "What was that all about?"

"I'm not sure," said Fred.

"Well," grinned Brad, "You got Rigare's attention, at least. Though it's not exactly the kind we hoped for."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	17. Ride With It

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

17: Ride With It

Messina, Sicily

Mid-2004

* * *

Fred did not tell his brother of his strange experience, nor did he inform the other fellows with whom he worked toward solving this curious, confounded mystery. This, he knew, was something he had to discover on his own, at least for a little while.

His mind was racing apace with his thundering heart that evening, lying in bed and thinking about what it was that was happening all around him, what was happening to himself.

All this, he supposed, began with a bomb and ended with elves and wizards, and then him _here_, having just met a woman who was beginning to feel like the end of all that he knew and the beginning of something grand and just… drastically different.

_Or the same_… this silly voice in his head seemed to whisper, because more than a departure, having literally collided into her felt like a missing piece had fallen into place. Eunice was not a departure from everything he knew. She was home.

And he… he was finally and once again who he was meant to be.

_Faramir_.

_Whoever the hell he is_.

He'd ask Leland, he decided. _Leland would know_.

But then there once again grew his doubt. First of all, a man claiming to be an elf was hardly the most reliable source of truth. Secondly, especially if this truth he was seeking had anything to do with apparently silly concepts like reincarnation. But then again… he also could not deny his feelings, these… recollections of evasive memories that are his and all at once not. Maybe he was the reincarnation of someone else. Or maybe he's just going crazy…

_Oh for god's sakes_, he could imagine his older brother saying, _You've__ just never been in love before, man. All of them are going to feel like the missing blasted piece._

But he remembered her eyes, and her hair and her nervous smile. And he knew he couldn't just let her go.

He fell asleep with the decision. He would claim her as his, he said to himself, or at least, find out what all this was about.

What he did not know, as his eyes drifted shut, was that his destiny would lay claim to him too. And thus did Messina, Italy melt away into dreams, and dreams melded with memory, and the shut eyes of the restless sleeper were at last turned toward their fervently awaiting destiny.

* * *

Brad awoke to find his brother embracing him chokingly tight and half-laughing and half-sobbing.

"The hell—" Brad exclaimed, sleep-muddled mind struggling to awaken, "Fred! What's your problem?!"

"Boromir!" Fred exclaimed, pulling away and studying his brother's face intently, "You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," Brad snapped, "What's wrong with you?"

"I had a dream," Fred said excitedly, "But then it was true, and I know it so well. I'm me, but then I'm somebody else too. And thank all the gods that you're alive!"

Brad was favoring him with a suspicious sidelong glance. His younger brother was hysterical. What the hell happened during the night? They shared a room, he knew for sure the punk didn't go anywhere. Nervously, he fished for his phone on the nightstand between the two single beds. He speed-dialed Leland Greene's number.

"We have a problem," Brad said quickly.

* * *

The two brothers made it to the quieter, humbler inn in good time. It was deep in the little town and not overlooking the sea, but it had its own quaint charm. The group of eight sat on a veranda, regarding the man who was, for all intents and purposes, Captain Faramir, Prince of Ithilien.

"You've recovered your memory," said Legolas slowly, "Upon touch of Eowyn."

"Yes," Faramir replied, "I felt something strange, but had no real recollection until I've seeked it during the night. You know, I am very eager to see her again, I need to know if the same epiphany has come to her. But Boromir was adamant to take me here and said that if I did not go, he'd have me strapped and sacked and slung over his shoulder. Or he'd go away himself, either way he needed answers. It being that I needed them too, and I'm very pleased he's alive, I let him have his way."

Legolas searched his face with a frown. "So which are you? Fred or Faramir? Does one replace the other?"

"I am both," Faramir said simply.

"Then why do you talk funny?" Brad asked, "This is insane, you've lost your mind."

"I've reclaimed it," Faramir corrected, "As, I think, we all should. Especially you, Aragorn."

Adrian's eyes narrowed in irritation, but he held his tongue and said nothing.

"You knew," Legolas said to Mithrandir quietly.

"I… hypothesized," Gandalf replied evenly.

"What does all this mean now?" Elrohir asked.

"I don't know," Gandalf replied, "But I think there's something we need to discover first. We have to know if the same thing has happened to Eowyn. If it has, then we can theorize that contact with those that were once loved or cherished, accompanied by a staunch determination and openness, can yield to the rediscovery of lives long passed."

"And if it can work for the pair of them," said Legolas, "It will likely work on Adrian. And Teodoro. And Emmett too."

"Then let us go see Eowyn!" Faramir said.

"Oh, knock yourself out," Brad told him wearily, waving him away, "I have some pretty solid advice for you though, chum, women do not often fall for psychos."

* * *

Emmett Rigare found, to his great and profound dismay, his younger sister looking up at the American stranger with stars in her eyes and a wild flush of color to her cheeks. The—_couple_, he supposed—were standing by the deck facing the sea, but they only seemed set upon looking at each other.

This morning, his sister came to him sprightly and excited, and speaking about things that sounded, at the very least, profoundly manic. He shot daggers at the American's back, wondering what kind of charm did he hold such that his sister, often very calm and controlled and reserved, burst forth toward him with a blinding smile and love in her eyes. Oh, how badly did he want that fellow to simply keel over and die and never bother them again…

Curiously, he found a man (the only other man aside from himself and his younger sister's beau in the establishment) sitting by the bar and looking loathsomely at the handsome pair as well. Finding a comrade, Emmett strode toward him and asked the bartender for a shot of tequila.

"Look at that," Brad said absently, "What the hell do they put in the water in this place?"

"What's it to you?" Emmett asked.

"That's my younger brother," Brad replied.

"That's my younger sister,' Emmett informed him, wondering if he should take his ire out on the American's brother.

"I mean she's pretty and all," Brad said, "And I'm sure she's nice. But we just got here. He's usually more… more…"

"Conservative," the two men said at the same time.

Emmett looked at him ironically for a moment, before extending his hand in introduction. "Emmett."

"Brad," said the other, "Nice to meetcha."

Emmett ordered them a round of drinks, and they downed it in a toast. "May they behave," Brad declared.

"May they're affair soon end," Emmett said wryly, "No offense to you, of course."

"Good call," Brad said, downing his drink and ordering them another round, this time, his treat. "Good call."

* * *

The group dispersed for lunch; they were in _Messina_, Elrohir reasoned, they really might as well take a break and have a bit of fun. It was mostly a quiet town, no one will care about the lot of them. Legolas opted to stay in the inn, to gather his thoughts. To his surprise, Adrian Aarons hesitantly decided to stay with him.

At one of the patios of the hostel, the two fellows regarded each other uncertainly.

"We were good friends, once," Legolas told him, "I'd have given my life for you. I still would."

"Don't," Adrian chuckled nervously, "I'm not the same guy."  
"Even after what has happened to Fred, you do not believe?" Legolas asked. "It is the way things are."

"Oh, he's always been a nice, quiet guy," Adrian said flippantly, "That's likely his repressed side being unleashed."

Legolas stared at him in consternation.

"You always look at me like that," Adrian pointed out, "Like you don't know what to do with me."

"I don't know what to do with you," Legolas admitted wryly.

"Do we seriously have to remember who we once were?" Adrian asked, "I mean we're all here, aren't we? The rules of the game have changed, because times have changed too. Maybe you need a different brand of guy, this time."

"You're… you're right, I suppose," Legolas said quietly, "It is likely not so necessary. Maybe it's more for me, than for this cause of ours, a cause we do not yet know. It's selfish and silly. But you could hardly blame us. As I said. We were once good friends. And Elladan and Elrohir… they are _Aragorn_'s brothers. We want him restored, almost blindingly so. But if being with us awakens no memory in you, perhaps you really are somebody else. Or perhaps we never meant too much to Aragorn after all, which," he chuckled wearily, "I refuse to believe."

Adrian smiled at him wistfully. So. His being here has questioned not merely the elf's future, but also his past. _This face_ was a blasted menace. But one lived with what one had, he supposed.

"So," Adrian breathed, "Would you want to see Messina with me? We can still catch up with them."

* * *

Getting drunk in the afternoon was not a very professional thing to do. It was not a very proper thing to do. It was not a very fun thing to do. But of course one discovers this too late, and Emmett found himself drifting blearily awake to a room that was not his own. To a hotel that wasn't even his own. To faces looking down upon him that belonged perfect strangers.

"I never knew you for drinking, Eomer," Legolas greeted him with a warm smile, although he did not expect to be recognized.

His sister's voice drifted from somewhere in the background. "Oh pipe down, Legolas. He's lost his job, he's lost our uncle's trust… he can have a few."

"They had a lot," Faramir said wryly, "my brother's still passed out on the floor."

"Well he got the job done, didn't he?" Elrohir said cheerfully, "He got the guy all the way here, eh?" He winked at Eomer, "You've just been kidnapped."

"Don't make him mad," Eowyn warned.

"Don't scare him," Anatalia piped in.

The man in question was more the former than the latter. He sat up and glared at the strangers, though he looked at his younger sister searchingly.

"What in the world is happening here?" he demanded to know. His eyes drifted to Anatalia, and they widened slightly. "You! I saw you with Warrington the other night. Is he behind this?"

"Oh calm down," Ana advised him, "Your sister's been photographed with him before, does that mean they're together? It's called a photo-op, you're supposed to know all about this."

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked.

"If you don't want to lose your mind," Adrian Aarons said dryly from a corner of the room, "You don't ask things like that."

* * *

He laughed, almost bitterly, and by this time, the elves of the company were neither surprised nor offended. As a matter of fact, if he did not laugh, if he believed instantly, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas and Gandalf likely would have questioned _his_ sanity.

"I know, I know," Elrohir said wearily, "It's insane, it's impossible, blah, blah, blah. But you lost your job, right? I mean, you're not officially fired, that wouldn't look nice for the family business at all. But for all intents and purposes, you're not going to be doing anything for awhile. So ride with it, eh?"

Emmett turned toward his sister and barked at her in Italian. 'I can't believe you are lending yourself to this.'

"It sounds like fun, though, doesn't it?" she asked him with a laugh, replying in English, the language everyone else could understand. "Come on, Emmett. Let's see where this takes us. And with any luck, they'll help us be rid of Warrington, don't you think?"

"We need you," said Gandalf, "To tell us everything that you know about him."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

HEY GUYS!!! Thanks to all who read and all who reviewed. Next chapter will find the gang knowing more about Grissom Warrington and his old boss… 'til then!!! :)


	18. Some Revelations

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

18: Some Revelations

Los Angeles, Mid-2004

Rafael Montes had lost the awkward limp by now, and the sudden realization of being almost completely cured (if not completely unscarred) reminded him of how long it was since he had last seen Leland Greene.

Curious, how it felt when friends and workmates of almost a decade suddenly do not see each other for days and weeks on end. Though he would never admit it, he felt a bit… deprived, actually, of that irrepressibly enjoyable company. But that was not the curious part; he'd have been surprised if he did not miss Greene at all. The strange thing was that, after having known Leland for so long, he was beginning to realize that he _truly_ did not know him after all.

The café incident was the last he had seen of Greene before the boring old hard-worker (or so Montes thought he once was), jet-setted off again to some other place somewhere. Stranger thing was, Adrian Aarons and the two friends he reported that lab bombing with were gone too. His partner was up to something, that was plain enough to see. The question was what and, for god's sake, why. Greene was clean, Montes was sure of that. But the stuff going on around him was crazy. Maybe it's a family thing. Or maybe, Montes managed to grudgingly admit to himself, he was only feeling jealous and left out.

"Monty!" his wife was hollering for him, which was rare for a Sunday morning. She usually reserved that anxious, panicky voice for the weekdays, when they both often rushed for work. He was almost sure her voice must have run out by week's end such that she was quiet practically all of Sunday, making it his most favorite day of the week.

"I'm coming," he hollered back, trudging from their bedroom and stepping into the dining area, greeted by Julianna's excited smile and the smell of a mouth-watering breakfast.

"Look, look," she said, grinning broadly and turning the tabloid she was reading over to face him, "Its Leland!"

"The hell—" he took the paper from her and looked at the batch of photographs more closely. The centerfold was a mass of pictures of 'star sightings' with captions beneath. It was entitled "Weekend in Messina." Stunned, he took a seat distractedly as his wife plopped a waffle on his plate.

_The charming inns of __Messina__ were awash in romance and intrigue this week. The arrival of Emmett Rigare brought many of our bright young femme fatales into the country with aims of capturing the heart of __Italy__'s most eligible bachelor. Emmett traveled in style with his sister Eunice and her mysterious American boyfriend, but most notable of his companions is Italy's most eligible bachelorette, Miss Anatalia Craxi. Do we smell romance? Maybe, maybe not. The two Italian moguls were seen about town with some friends yet to be identified. We will keep you posted_.

Though the paparazzo's focus was undeniably the two famous Italians the article spoke of, most of the photographs did indeed show Leland Greene amongst the faces—with Adrian Aarons and his two lab technicians and the bloody hobo too.

"The hell…" Rafe muttered, wondering what in the world a detective in the LAPD had to do with three Italian socialites and businessmen, two lab technicians, a doctor, a hobo and a pair of twins no one knew anything about.

"I'm going to borrow this," he said to his wife, and he left his waffle and Julianna and trudged up to his room in search of his cell phone.

" " "

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

" " "

Elsewhere, someone was reading of the same thing.

Grissom Warrington sat behind the desk of the private office in his upscale home, and he asked his executive assistant of any reports regarding Emmett Rigare.

"He's in Italy, sir," the mousy, lanky boy wearing a sharp suit and surprisingly sharper eyes replied, "Our informants knew of this, and the tabloids report it too."

"Good," Grissom smiled to himself, "Let him hide out, run off with his tail between his legs. I so enjoy a good victory. He had, after all, brought this upon himself. Are we good with the rest of the plan?"

"I do not think tampering with his car would be very wise at this time, sir," replied the assistant, "his sister, she is with him."  
"Blast," Grissom winced, "The old man won't take two of them lost sitting down. Although it would be convenient…" he shook his head, "Too much of a gamble." He sighed, melodramatically. "How are we with the other situation."

"That's the unbelievable part, sir," said the assistant, fishing for a tabloid between the folder he was carrying and handing it to his boss. "Adrian Aarons and Emmett Rigare. They are together."

Grissom Warrington shot up straighter at the sight of the photographs. His eyes flared in panic and anger. He pointed at the photograph featuring Emmett, Adrian and a host of friends. But he saw what few else in the world could see. He saw Aragorn son of Arathorn, he saw Eomer of Rohan, he saw Legolas of Mirkwood and he saw Gandalf the White, banded together.

"Impossible," he said to his assistant in a near manic panic, "Impossible! Find them! Find them, I want them dead and buried" his eyes were afire, "I don't care how."

The assistant frowned, but he nodded and made a step toward the door before his boss called upon him again. He turned back toward Grissom Warrington attentively, waiting in patience as the man began to gather his thoughts about him more calmly.

"I was too rash," he said in a more controlled tone, "I want them found and I want them brought to me instead. There are things… there are things I want to ask. Off with you!"

As the assistant left with his task, Grima Wormtongue stared at the newsprint and decided that _These__ people made one of my lives miserable once, they will not do so again._

" " "

Messina, Sicily

Mid-2004

" " "

"Greene," Legolas said, answering his cell phone.

"This is Montes," came the gruff reply, "Call me back, will 'ya? This is costing me tons and you got money to spare, eh?"

The man hung up just like that!, and Legolas smiled and shook his head helplessly, calling back his partner. The man answered the phone midway through the first ring.

"All right, Montes, what's up?' Legolas asked, "Did you miss me?"  
"I can't miss you if you're everywhere in the damned papers, could I?" Montes barked, which was actually an exaggeration but he was in a bit of a fiery mood.

"What are you talking about?" Legolas asked.

"My wife saw you in the tabloids today hanging out with your rich friends out in Italy, man," Rafael said.

Legolas cringed inwardly. They did not even notice them. They could go nowhere unseen as long as Anatalia and Emmett were with them. Those crazy paparazzi were so discreet and effective they really ought to be working for the CIA instead…

"I'm on vacation," Legolas pointed out defensively, "So what?"

"It won't look so good for the station," said Rafael, "Don't play with me, I looked 'em up. You're hanging out with the big blue chip crowds. We're talking really gigantic multinationals here. And you're in _Sicily_, Greene, so that means we could very well be talking about the Mafia too."

"That's a generalization," Legolas said wryly, almost amused, "A very hasty one."

"All right well," Rafe scrambled, "the guy's an arms dealer, huh? How about that?"

"A legal one," Legolas said, "whom our own government occasionally deals with."

"And what's the doc and the hobo doing with you?" Rafe asked sardonically, "They your relatives too? Something's going down, Leland, and I want in. Or wait. No, not really. I just want to know."

"Nothing's 'going down,'" Legolas sighed, "Come on, Rafe. It's just… a vacation."

"I don't like this," Montes said, "Something smells funny. But that's cool, I won't bug you about it. You've always been kinda quiet, you've always had your secrets. I mean, you little bugger, you're a bit of a loner, you got billions in a bank account from god knows where, you have weird relatives springing up from left and right, I can never tell how old you are… You don't say much and I respect that. I do. But I'm calling to give you a courtesy heads up. I'm not doing this 'cos I'm pissed I'm not in on your little racket. I'm doing this 'cos my first duty is to the badge, ok?"

"I know," Legolas slowly, "What are you thinking of?"

"I have to report this to the captain," Montes said, "Internal Affairs may have a beef with you. We have to make sure any investigation of yours won't have any conflict of interest which means we have to find out who you're connected to. I gotta do this, Greene. Besides, it's already out there, someone's going to find out sooner or later. It might as well come from you or me. You're not budging so I guess it's me. I'm telling. But you know I love you, man."

Legolas tiredly pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I know, Montes. Just… just go do what you have to do, all right? I'll do what I have to do."

Sighing, Legolas hung up and turned to his companions. They were having an honest to goodness Italian pizza over work when Rafael Montes called.

"Who was that?" Adrian asked.

"Rafe Montes," Legolas replied, "We are all over the papers. We have to get out of here. Whoever is after you is going to see that. And… well. My boss won't be very happy with me either."  
"Why not?" Fred asked.

"They're going to send IA out on my tail," Legolas replied, clarifying, "Internal Affairs. They're suddenly questioning my credibility."  
"I'm sorry," Ana said suddenly, "I suppose we've gotten so used to the possibility of being followed that we forgot."

"Oh don't worry about it," Elrohir said flippantly, "Getting caught on camera is nothing new to old Legolas, remember?"  
The Mirkwood elf threw him a sour look.

"We must leave as soon as possible," Gandalf said, "If Aragorn's assassins have traced all the way up to the nth degree of that line, their eyes and ears will be very alert for any trace of Adrian Aarons."  
The feeling of being watched was a truly fearful one, Adrian was learning, especially if the photos weren't for some newspaper like Anatalia, Emmett or Eunice. There was someone out there who didn't want a headshot of him… they wanted his head shot.

"I'm thinking Imladris," Elrohir said.

"I'm thinking chartered flight," Anatalia beamed, reaching for her cell phone, "the sooner we get out of here, the better."

" " "  
Imladris

Vienna, Austria

Mid-2004

" " "

They reached Imladris a few hours later, and Legolas reckoned it was as much a homely refuge then as it was now. The doors shut behind him, and just a massive wave of relief followed the reassuring sound of the intricate locks.

There seemed a collective sigh about the group, and Halvor was going insane bowing to all the royals flooding the hall.

"He's having the time of his life, ain't he?" Elrohir said to his twin brother wryly.

"Don't give them the same room!" Emmett was saying to the elven majordomo of his sister and the American, "I don't care what kind of life they think they once led, they're not married in this one yet, blast it."

Eowyn's face was flushed with embarrassment. "Eomer!"  
"No one is going to be spending much time in anybody's room," Elladan said diplomatically, "We're working, remember?"

" " "

"Grissom Warrington," said Emmett, "Once worked for Altman Solutions International. He was the chief of operations, slimy bastard always managed to squirm his way up somewhere, wherever he was…"

"What does Altman Industrial do?" asked Gandalf.

"Bioengineering, mostly," said Emmett, "They do very well. Good, quality work, if you set aside that they're big on cross-corporation politics. They play for keeps. Warrington was looking into a dig in the U.K., they were building a laboratory there and he was sent to check up on them. Then he kind of just quit right after. No one knows why. My investigators say he's still in touch with the old boss now and then, not the best of terms but somehow, Zander still gave him pretty good recommendations. And a nice big chunk of stock too. I'm thinking blackmail. Or maybe information exchange… although we're still looking into it, I think Zander is secretly buying out Fortress stock through phony accounts and behind other companies he's made arrangements with."

"Wait a moment," said Legolas, raising up a hand, "Zander Altman?" the words sounded suspiciously familiar in his mouth, words he'd much rather forget.

_Saruman__…_?

"Yes," Emmett replied, "That would be him."  
"Do you have photographs?" Legolas asked.

"In my files in the office," Emmett replied, "But he's not hard to look for. A newspaper's business section, their company website…"

"I got it," Elrohir said, immediately going on line in his trusty laptop, "Shouldn't be hard."

"What did he find in Switzerland?" Legolas asked.

"It's not the past that worries me," Elladan winced, "It's where they plan to go with it. Bioengineering and military weapons. It sounds like a mad, mad plan. A very big, ambitious, dangerous one."

"Clone an army and brandish them with big bad weapons?" Brad scoffed, "Science fiction."

"What's crazier is," said Gandalf wryly, "It's been done before."

"I'm half wishing it is Saruman and half wishing it isn't," said Elrohir under his breath as he awaited the photographs to load. "Anyone want to make a bet?"

Brad looked over the elf's shoulder and frowned. "Is everyone here telling me I should be shit-scared of an old, white-collar criminal spending most of his time riding a desk?"  
Elrohir swiveled the laptop to face the rest of the group, and revealed the photograph of Zander Altman leaning a hip against an oak desk in a high-rise office, wearing a sharp suit and a smug look, arms crossed over his chest.

"Very c.e.o.-ish," Ana commented.

"Very Saruman-ish," Elrohir said darkly, looking toward Gandalf. "What's in your mind, Mithrandir?"

Everyone looked to the pensive wizard.

"I tire of games," he said with finality, "We shall have everything out with at the last. I know for a certainty he did not live again endowed with the same powers that I have. If he is behind this, we shall soon discover it. He and I shall have a talk, Istari to Istari."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Thanks to all who read and all who reviewed! You guys are fantastic, you really are. I'm in a bit of a rush so I'll just leave you with this: in chapter 19, watch out for… Haldir ;) 'til then!!!


	19. Interpol

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

19: Interpol

Imladris,

Vienna, Austria

Mid-2004

Three nights of work and arrangements later, Legolas stood at the door beside Halvor, Adrian, Anatalia, Emmett and Eunice, the lot of them scowling irrepressibly at the departing group.

"Don't be a brat, my prince," Elladan laughed at the Mirkwood elf, "No trouble is to happen to us if you are here and we are elsewhere."

Legolas looked at Anatalia ironically. "We are going to have an affair. He is going to regret this."

She laughed. "Bye-bye, Elladan."

The Rivendell elf pressed a very territorial kiss upon her cheek and winked at her before walking away.

"Oh he's so certain," Legolas said, looking after him as he walked off, "He's just so pompous…"

"You know you cannot go, Legolas," Gandalf said to the Mirkwood elf soothingly, "Our cause does not need attention from the public, as in the case of Anatalia, Eomer and Eowyn, much as we do not need any attention from your government. And _you_ do not need the attention either."

"I'm stuck here with the troublemakers," Legolas said to the Istari, "I'm more anxious for myself than that I could not go to watch over you."

It was a mostly a lie, but then the words escaped his mouth and he got around to thinking that indeed, with the exception of Halvor and Emmett, he managed to band with a bunch of rogues; the Estel incarnate who had some potential for mischief as long as that blood ran in his veins, the spoiled divorcee who actually first found him, the only member of the Fellowship who perished in the War of the Ring, and a woman who pretended to be a man to go to war…

Gandalf snickered at him. "Perhaps some other excursion, eh? This one in particular, after all, promises to be a very memorable affair. Stay here, and do not deem your time wasted. Read the books. We may have missed something. Keep each other out of trouble."

Legolas took an exasperated breath, and nodded. "Go, go. Brad's to come down at any moment."

Miserably, he watched the group comprised of Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir and Faramir as they drove away. He glanced at Halvor, who was looking toward him worriedly.

'The sight of those retreating backs always strike me with fear,' the manservant admitted in his native tongue.

'They will return, my friend,' Legolas assured him, 'And we can both be sick of their untenable company again.'

Suddenly, storming down the intricate steps of the main stairway, Brad appeared, bearing his packed bags and a weird, eccentric-looking candlestick. "Elrohir?" he called, "Is this what you were looking for?"  
Legolas looked up at him with a barely-repressed grin. "Brad."  
"Where's everybody else?" he asked, eyes raking through the remnants of the group.

"They left us," Eowyn said simply.

The idea was partly Legolas', although the brilliance of making Brad look for something impossibly particular within Imladris was Elrohir's brainchild. Boromir, after all, _died_ the last time he was plunged in this situation. The only death in the Fellowship. The fact was always a regret, and the loss created a world of possibilities in the unlikely case of a second chance – _if I had been there sooner, if I did this rather than that, if I can do it over,_ etc., etc., etc. But a second chance they did find, and any way they could take to steer him away from trouble was one they would _grab_.

"What?" Brad asked flatly.

_Even if he won't be very pleased_…

"We're assigned to do research," Legolas lied, "Come on, we're supposed to be working."  
The Mirkwood elf left in a huff, walking toward the library. If he acted annoyed first, maybe the _adan_ would be the apologetic one.

" " "

Brad was annoyed, but he kept his mouth shut. He felt like the victim caught in the midst of some conspiracy. It was like walking around in the dark, knowing you were being followed but unsure of whom, or why. He did not bother Leland Greene with the questions that would not have been answered. Instead, he took a different way from the library where all the rest of the company headed, and took a walk about the house.

He loved Imladris for its sense of history. Now these… these were walls that ached for a voice. If only they could talk… they'd have such wondrous tales to tell.

Curiously, it was the House that spoke to him of the truth of the situation; more than the self-proclaimed elves, more than his once-sensible younger brother. It was this House, with its austere, overwhelming and almost-stifling air of history. It was a silence that spoke volumes of truth.

He passed by the intricate archways, the indulgent halls, the storytelling paintings with heroes and swords and demons felled. He did not know what they mean. But that was all right; he was comfortable with the House and its quiet ghosts and restless stories. He felt as if… he belonged somehow. Or if not belonged, then that at least he was welcome.

He came upon the beautiful statue of a woman bearing a tray, and reverently held before him a beautiful sword. He ached to touch it, his hand almost felt warm with the rawness of his desire. He wondered if it was still sharp, and hypothesized that it likely was, because it was immaculately well-kept. He wondered how much it weighed, who once owned it, why it held such a place of awe and respect. _Why it called… _He stared at the sword, and he could have sworn it was staring right back.

" " "

"Where's Brad?" Legolas asked to no one in particular, looking up from his readings.

"He is walking around, I believe," Eowyn replied, "I think he may be irked at you."

Legolas smirked a little, did not bother to deny it.

"So he died," Emmett said, "That other time before."

"Yes," Legolas replied quietly, looking about him, as if he feared Brad would appear at any second, even as his mind was telling him his elven senses would be made aware if this were so.

"You did not tell him," Emmett continued.

"No," replied Legolas, "we did not."

Emmett frowned in thought. "I still do not believe in all of this. But since you do…" he paused, trying to gather his thoughts, "What I mean to say is, if you think all of here and now will unfold just as it did there and then, you may want to keep in mind that those who do not know their history are bound to repeat it." He added, more uncertainly, "Or so they say."

"I will keep that in mind," Legolas murmured, trying to appear distracted by looking back at his work. The man's ideas were worth some serious thought. It's just that… there was a lot of things that were very hard to explain about Boromir. His fall. His desires. His greatness and heroism despite it all. Brad wouldn't understand, not in just hearing. And perhaps… perhaps Legolas was not ready to say, just as he was never really one to speak of such things.

A cell phone rang, breaking him from his reverie. Emmett, Eowyn, Anatalia, Adrian and himself scrambled for their mobiles.

"It's mine," Legolas declared, rising from his seat in the library and commandeering a corner. "Greene."

"Leland, I think someone's after you," Montes said without any greeting or introduction.

The Mirkwood elf, unsurprised over a fact he was well-aware of, sighed wearily. "I've been dreading hearing your voice lately, Rafe. Do you never call just because you miss me—"

"Be serious, Greene," his partner barked, "I don't know what's happening, but I'm in the middle of your really trashed apartment right now. A few hours ago, I was standing in your doc's place—and ballistics was there just days ago!—and your two other friends'."

"Was anyone hurt?" Legolas asked urgently. Now this… this he did not expect. Now he was part of a hit-list alongside Aragorn's heir? And someone was ingenious and resourceful enough to have traced him?

"Your door man," Rafe replied, "Some messy business there. Someone tried to beat some answers out of him. He's still alive, though. Lucky, stubborn bastard…"

"Rafe, I'm going to need you to look after a woman," Legolas said immediately, sparing Adrian, who was eyeing him with suspicion, a quick glance, "Rowena Aarons. Someone wants to get to the doctor, Montes, and though they do not involve the women, they might take her just to smoke him out."

"Is this the Mafia?" Montes asked.

"No," Legolas said insistently, "Look in on her, Montes. Please. As soon as you can. Right now if you can. Look out for that family. Go."

"All right, all right," said the other detective, "Hey. Watch your back."

Rafe hung up, and Legolas pocketed his cellphone and looked toward the others in the room who were staring at him expectantly. The Mirkwood elf was just about to open his mouth to inform them of the latest developments when he heard the chimes from the main gate sound. His heart pounded, and his eyes raked the room for Halvor, and, well, a weapon.

The manservant stared at him blankly.

"Do not open the gates," Legolas said.

"What's happening?" Adrian asked.

"Someone traced us to our homes in the U.S.," said Legolas, "I would not be surprised if they managed to find Elladan and Elrohir here in Imladris."

'What to do, my lord?' Halvor asked.

"They wouldn't ring the blasted doorbell if they wanted us dead and captured," Emmett pointed out, to Legolas' embarrassment. Montes' call had jarred him more than he cared to admit, compounded by his worry for a room filled with folk who looked to him for action protection.

"Please go see who it is," Legolas ordered, and the manservant quickly left the room to comply. The main gate had a security camera and a speaker. They should be able to identify the newcomer with ease and from a safe distance..

"And the rest of us?" Anatalia asked.

Legolas' mind raced. "They cannot have you," he said, pointing to Adrian, "And if the man behind this is Saruman and Grima Wormtongue, you must be kept from sight as well," he said of Eowyn and Emmett. He glanced at Anatalia uncertainly. "You we'll keep out of sight… just because _I'll_ be in danger if anything should happen to you. There's not been a kinslaying between the Noldor and the Teleri since ages ago—" she was looking at him blankly, and he clarified, simply saying that Elladan would kill him.

_Where could I keep you out of sight_, he wondered, although knowing the disastrously honorable company he kept, likely the true question was _How do I keep you there?_

He almost grinned at his epiphany. Rivendell had its multitude of secret ways, yes, it most definitely did. One in particular was very special. A few hundred years ago, Elrohir called it the 'time out' room, and for good reason… The twins, himself and Estel had made the really rather terrible mistake of going on one of their indoor adventures and discovering the harsh way that not all of Rivendell's secret ways were in the best of shape…

"Up the stairs, third door to your left, look at the painting with the woman pointing to the skies," Legolas told them, "follow her finger to the gilded frame, and press the carved star. It will reveal a secret passage within which you must stay until I come for you. Stay there, do not venture elsewhere as the secret ways are tricky; even I've lost my way times before. Call Brad on his mobile and make sure he follows and tell him to take the service stairs, not the main one."

"And you're just staying here?" Adrian asked him flatly.

"Let's put it this way," said Legolas wryly, "Can you wield a sword? Fire a gun? Get into a really dirty fight? You're not Aragorn, you said so yourself. If you should stay, I'll have to look after you, and we might both just perish here. You will be a liability to me, not to mention the fact that they want something from your line we are yet to discover. Stay alive, my friend. Your duty calls you thus."

"I don't like it," the _adan_ said stubbornly.

"Oh, come on," Eowyn said to him, grasping him by the arm, "Maybe it is just a traveling salesman. The elf is going to be so embarrassed."

"Thank you for the faith," Legolas called after them wryly as they began to head up the stairs.

Halvor jogged back to Legolas. 'It is just one man, my lord,' he reported, 'he says he is an investigator, for Interpol. He wishes to speak with the masters of the house. I told them they are not here, and he insists upon seeing for himself.'

"Interpol?" Legolas asked, brows seriously furrowing at this new potential for trouble. "What in the world did the twins get into?"

'He said that if we do not let him in,' Halvor continued, 'He can have a team return with him at the crack of dawn tomorrow who will happily turn the place inside-out. We must not risk this. The house… the art… the records…'

"I know," Legolas breathed, looking about him at the splendor of Rivendell. "He is alone?"

'Yes, my lord,' replied Halvor.

Legolas chewed at the inside of his mouth. 'I will see him in the receiving hall. If he yields trouble, my friend, you and I can gang up on him, and I'm sure the many grounds of Imladris can accommodate and cleverly conceal one corpse, eh?'

Halvor did not appreciate the humor, but he nodded and scurried off to let the investigator into Imladris. Legolas took the time to grab an ornate letter opener on hand and concealed it on his person, _just in case_.

" " "

What he did not expect to find was an old ally.

The man wore a clever day suit, although it was a bit the worse for wear, as if its bearer had been in it all through the day and into the night. His eyes, however, were no less sharp than memory allowed Legolas to recall-- no sign of fatigue, or fear, or distress. This was a man who was as sharply outfitted now as when he used to be an elf, long, long ago…

Legolas barely noticed Halvor beside the glorious ex-Lothlorien elf who was regarding him cautiously.

"This is not your house?" 'Haldir' asked of Legolas.

"No," Legolas replied, "I'm sitting it for my friends."

'Haldir' frowned. "And you are?"

"I should be asking you first," Legolas pointed out.

The Interpol agent shrugged in acquiescence, and drew out the wallet that showed his credentials. Easy enough to forge, Legolas supposed, but anyone who bore his dead old friend's face invoked a trust that was immediate.

_Horace Harding_, Legolas read. _You sound like a stuffy detective-novel lead character_.

_Oh wait. _I'm_ the detective_.

Legolas offered the agent his hand. "Detective Leland Greene of the Los Angeles Police Department."

Horace's brows raised. "You're a mighty long way from home. Certainly out of your departmental jurisdiction…"

"I'm on vacation," Legolas replied, "Hardly investigating anything. I… would really love to know what this is about, sir. It really does not bode well, for a man in my profession to be thus linked with folk coming beneath the eagle-eye of the International Police."

"I've been assigned to keep an eye on Fortress Defense Systems," replied Horace, "I managed to intercept a hacker who was stealing files from them. I let the line run long, and he led me to a client—the owners of this house. The hacker is now in my custody. He committed a felony, but of course, I should love to know why there is such interest in Fortress from this end."

"Why would Interpol be investigating Fortress?" Legolas asked.

"I do not consider it your business," Horace replied coolly, looking sidelong at the elf in thought. "You did not deny."

Legolas cringed inwardly. Indeed, he did not. It was so hard not to trust a face that he long had cared for, regretted the loss of. It was so easy to forget that life was different, that they had all changed. That this man's duty was first to his job, and not to an old friend he never even knew he had…

"I was just curious," Legolas said, rather halfheartedly. "Well. The owners are not home. I believe they went… skiing somewhere."  
"I wish to ascertain this myself," Horace insisted, looking about the house, "If you don't mind?"

"I do mind," Legolas countered, "It will take us hours. The compound is gigantic."

"I was just trying to be polite," Horace retorted, "You force my hand into demanding for such a tour."

"You're wasting your time," Legolas told him, "The house is all but empty. And if they were here, they could easily give you the run-around."

"Nevertheless," said Horace, "I wish—"

The exchange was cut off when Halvor turned to Legolas with a quick jerk of his chin, exclaiming, 'My lord!'

The perceptive manservant had heard of the sounds from the outside just as Legolas detected them himself.

_Intruders_, he quickly decided, fingers reaching for the really rather inadequate letter opener concealed in his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Horace exclaimed in indignation, drawing out his small handgun and pointing it Legolas' way.

The Mirkwood elf barely spared it a glance, and he looked about him, eyes darting to and fro, at the stealthy but insistent footsteps that seemed to be enveloping the entire house.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey everybody!!!! Thanks for reading and reviewing!!! Watch out for chapter 20!!! :)


	20. Invasion

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

20: Invasion

Imladris,

Vienna, Austria,

Mid-2004

The lights shut over their heads with a sudden snap and a fading whirring a breath before the glass windows burst inwards with the force of the unwelcome new arrivals.

"The hell—" Harding exclaimed, and Legolas took advantage of the moment of surprise and his considerably more superior elvish eyesight. He made a grab for the agent's gun, knocked him on the back of the head and dragged and tossed him into a nearby coat cabinet, just as the intruders rounded about him and Halvor, poised for an attack.

" " "

Brad followed the text message instructions to the letter, and he pulled open the secret door and stepped into the hidden passage with a frown marring his regal face.

"What's all this about?" he asked, "Another stinking game?"

Eowyn closed the door behind him, and the group of five stood in the low, narrow corridor brightened only by the light of Brad's cellphone casting the area in an eerie, dim glow.

"Greene thinks we're being attacked," Emmett replied dryly, "My sister thinks it's a traveling salesman."

"You sister _prays_ it's a traveling salesman," Eowyn piped in good-naturedly.

"So what are we all doing in here?" Brad asked, "That skinny blondie can't take on the world by himself, could he?"  
"He likes to think so," Adrian said wryly.

"He makes sense and you know it," Eowyn told them evenly, "Now pipe down. There is no sense in hiding if we are so noisy."

"This is weird," said Brad, "The way I heard this story told, aren't you supposed to be the one with the hot head? Why aren't you rushing off into the fight?"

"I can fight, yes," Eowyn said, "At this time likely better than any of you. The gods know I wish to. But if I stayed down there, none of you louts would go up here, now would you?" she looked at her brother pointedly, "We cannot have that. For the persons in this space much grander things are meant, and much greater evils are yours to vanquish. We cannot let you fall fighting a batch of little lackeys, could we?"

The light from the cellphone died down as it fell to the inacyive mode. Brad did not revive it, and the only light about the secret way was a single line of luminosity from the where the door met the floor.

"Look," Ana breathed, pointing toward the line that vanished as the light was cut off.

"What the hell is going on out there?" Adrian muttered.

" " "

Switzerland

Mid-2004

" " "

They broke into the vacation house of Zander Altman.

There really was no two ways about it, Elladan reflected a bit dryly, they have been demoted from being some amongst the finest races in all of Arda to a clever pack of second-rate criminals…

The Altman holiday cabin was 'rugged' in the very fashionable sense; it was situated atop its own snowy hill overlooking a little sleepy town that came alive in tourist season. It was all glass and wood, and Elrohir reflected with a wince that the cavernous log house must have eaten up a rather sizeable part of the nearby forest… which, although displeasing, was not altogether uncharacteristic of Saruman.

The house was dim, with the dull red of the security cameras dotting the place here and there. Naturally they took care of these first, and cut them off cleanly at the central line. Altman's guards were nothing short of efficient and unfortunately for them, their quick response was expected; a trio of them hurried to check upon the connections, only to be quickly and quietly felled by a wizard's staff, elves who had taken a liking to tranquilizers tipping their slim and intricate crossbows, and an _adan_ who made clever use of his fists.

_ The old lethal ways are more of a liability these days_, Elrohir sighed as he downed the last fellow.

There were more, of course; Altman was a wealthy mogul who's likely made more enemies than friends. But robbed of their eyes and ears, here in the boondocks without reinforcements and only a skeleton crew battling foes who have once crossed blades with different, more voracious _species_ altogether… they did not stand much of a chance.

The group of four— Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir and Faramir—checked the multitude of rooms that lined the wide halls. They were unsurprisingly empty; Altman was a bachelor, after all, and had much more than he cared to share. An entire wing held but a single room which was assuredly his and assuredly occupied, as the flames from a fireplace within danced and graced the space between the floor and the heavy double doors.

'I'm thinking this is too easy for breaking into the stronghold of Saruman the White,' Elrohir muttered to his brother in their native tongue as the group stood anxiously before the entrance. The twins looked at Gandalf at the same time and in the same manner, seeming more identical than ever.

"Well," Faramir breathed, "We've all gone this far. Across places, across times, across _lives_… we stand at last before this door."

"Let us see what lies behind it," Gandalf said gravely, and the three other warriors flanked him wordlessly, preparing for any sort of attack.

The wizard pushed the double doors forward.

" " "

Imladris

" " "

Eowyn was profoundly disappointed that they now refused to listen to her, but then again the dissatisfaction was dulled both by her own desire to fight, and the predictability of their actions. If anything, she was actually surprised that they lasted _this_ long without some heroic effort.

Brad, Emmett and Adrian were standing frustrated before the blank dead end that spelled the slim distance between the secret passage and the room from which they entered it. The trio had decided to step out into the battle they perceived was ongoing outside quite some time ago, but for some reason they could not find a knob to open the door.

Anatalia was sitting on the ground beside her, looking at the men wistfully. "They're not going to find it, are they?" she whispered.

"No," Eowyn replied with a pensive smile, "That Legolas. I should have known."

"I'm going to kill him," Brad declared, "This is the second time today that I've been given the run-around."

Breathing harshly with his great and wordless annoyance, Adrian stepped away from the door and raised up his cellphone, using it as a light. The narrow secret hall was long and winding and pitch-black, lined by turns every few meters. It felt old and complicated, and it was most certainly not any route he wished to take.

_On any other occasion_…

"There is most certainly another way out," Adrian declared, "It's a secret passage, for crying out loud. You get in on one door, you step out another."

"Yes," Eowyn replied, "But you're bound to get lost first."  
"They said this was once my home," Adrian said determinedly, "If anyone can find it, I can."

"And you said you're someone else," Ana pointed out.

Adrian stared at her thoughtfully a moment. It was easy to say he was just using whichever argument would be most convenient for him to use at a particular time. But underlying it was a question begging for an answer… begging for a decision. Strange, how it was that he was both literally and figuratively trying to forge a path.

_To stay in the dark, or to traverse these strange ways toward a distant light I cannot yet see_…

""

_"I'm just a normal guy," he had said but days ago and shores away, "I do this normal thing for a living. I don't run around getting blasted at. I never planned on being part of some genetic-modifying conspiracy of some sort. I just… A part of me wants to know what this is all about. And another part…" he shook his head in dismay. "I don't know."_

_ "Understandably so," Legolas murmured reassuringly, "Doctor. You do not know me very well, but I will not plunge you headfirst into any danger I cannot protect you from. I promise. I swear."_

""

_… But I know it's there_, he decided, and the light emanated from a stranger's promise.

""

_"We were good friends, once," Legolas had told him, "I'd have given my life for you. I still would."_

""

_I may not yet fully believe_, he thought_, in who you say I am. But I know you believe it and I know now that you would truly die for it. For this reason, I find I don't have the heart to disappoint you_.

"This way," Adrian said absently, walking past his companions and pushing forward. He did not remember this place, that was certain enough. But he did not want to stay rooted in the dark either. Besides, he had a plan.

" " "

Switzerland

" " "

The man slept like the logs of his lavish cabin and for a nerve-wracking moment, four warriors prepared for the worst stood dumbfounded by the mogul's door awaiting demons to jump from the woodworks.

The fire cackled, and Zander Altman shifted, creating a crisp, clean sound from his multitude of comforters. He really, truly seemed to be sleeping very soundly.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed in irritation and confusion. Setting his jaw, he raised up his staff and smartly rapped it against the door. When this knock was met with no response, he frowned and tried again.

Altman moaned and sat up. He was muttering some curses, and asking his assistant what was so important that it could not wait until he woke. It took him a beat before his eyes settled upon the intruders and he sat up sharply.

"Who are you?" he asked in that melodious voice, long quieted by the ages and once again gracing the winds. Saruman was one of those folk whom Gandalf had always… _regretted for_, for lack of a better term. There had been so much to offer, so much to do and yet… well, that was a different story altogether. Now, as Faramir had mentioned, across places, across times and across lives, they stood before each other once again.

"I tire of your deceptions, Saruman," Gandalf said mightily, "Rise! Show me your true face, reveal to me your true power. There is no need for games, my old friend. Now the ages have brought here together, and you will cease your evil plans!"

"Who the hell are you?" Altman demanded, craning his neck to look beyond the intruders' shoulders. His eyes were wide, more with anger over the intrusion than actual fear. This was a man who held next to none of it. "Guards!" he bellowed, "Guards!"

"Your lackeys are no match for us," Gandalf informed him, "Your hordes could not stop us then, your lesser band will not succeed this time."

"Are you out of your mind?" Altman exclaimed, reaching for the cell phone that sat on his nightstand. With an almost careless wave of Gandalf's staff/cane, the mobile clattered to the ground and away from Altman's reach.

"No more games," Gandalf snapped, "And no more pretensions," he said, eyes afire in a rapid diminishing of patience, "The ages have come to this, Saruman. Show me your face!"

This time, the wave was directed at the man on the bed. Who did not raise a staff of his own to fight back, or use some kind of weapon or power. He took the force of the wizard's attack head-on, and he collapsed back in bed, out-cold.

The wizard and his three warrior companions frowned in wait. Now this… _this_ they did not expect. Zander Altman remained unmoving, and the cabin was so deathly silent and… and… well, peaceful.

"I think he might have nothing to do with this after all," Elrohir said at last, his voice low either because he was being discreet or he was trying to keep from laughing.

Gandalf cleared his throat. Indeed. What an embarrassing though understandable mistake.

"I think we'd better leave," he declared.

Elladan's cell phone vibrated with a call, and he fished it out of his pocket to find Adrian Aarons on the line.

TO CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Thanks for reading and reviewing… you know I am just so stuck on chapter 26 of this fic… sigh… oh well :) I'm working really very hard, and I am very much determined to finish in good time. I suppose I just have to warn you to expect more paced posts :) thanks so much for your time, you guys are absolutely great! :)

Watch out for chapter 21, when our forgetful heroes get a taste of combat :)


	21. Not Here

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

21: Not Here

" " "

Imladris,

Vienna, Austria

Mid-2004

" " "

"Hi," Adrian said quickly into his mobile phone, "Elladan, I strayed into one of your secret passages and I'm lost."

Eowyn glanced at the doctor and smiled wryly to herself. _Oh, let them all deal with each other_…

"Which one?" Adrian paused in thought, "Um… the one up the stairs, third door to the left, woman pointing to the skies…" Adrian rolled back his eyes in response to something the elf said at the other end of the line, "No, Greene didn't tell me the latch from the other side was broken… mmmhm… mmmhm…" Adrian stopped walking and the group stopped behind him. He turned a corner and walked straight down that corridor until he reached its end. "Okay, I found it. Thanks. How are things unfolding over there?" he paused to listen and actually smirked, "Oh yeah? That's funny. Um. Well since you're not very busy there, you may want to get here a bit fast… No," he said indignantly, defensively too quickly before reneging and saying, "Well, yes… I guess you _can_ say the cocky elf locked us up for good reason…"

" " "

Switzerland

" " "

"Stay where you are!" Elladan barked, but apparently the really rather notoriously independent fellow at the other end of the line had already hung up on him. The oft-composed elf hissed a string of clever curses as he stalked out of the Altman cabin, flanked by his three companions.

"What happened?" Elrohir asked.

"Imladris is under attack," Elladan replied with his jaws set, "Crazy Mirkwood prince thought he could save the world so he goes off and locks everyone up in one of the secret passages."

"Legolas could always handle himself," Gandalf pointed out.

"Yes, well," Elladan growled, "Estel deceived me into telling him the way out."

Faramir's head shot up at him.

"Yes, your fair lady is likely to fight with them," Elladan winced, "So's mine."

"You cannot convince them to stay still?" Faramir asked edgily.

"You know the answer to that," Elrohir said gravely.

"We should not have left them," growled Elladan.

"We thought it was more safe there, brother," Elrohir said to him soothingly as they walked downhill to their concealed vehicle, "There is no blaming to be made here."

"Only speed," Gandalf said, "We can only get there as quickly as we can. And…" the wizards eyes glinted, "make a call to the police. Pretend you are a neighbor complaining of a rowdy party in the estate."

"Our closest neighbors live a five-minute drive away," Elladan pointed out.

"They don't know that," countered Gandalf, "Let the intruders scatter. They are there now and there is nothing we can do about it. We can only hasten their departure."

Elrohir immediately dialed the Vienna police in the area of Imladris.

" " "

Imladris

" " "

To Legolas' profound horror and dismay, they bounded down the stairs armed with everything they could find lying about the house that they deemed lethal: canes and vases and pointed things and _Eowyn__, in the hall, with a candlestick…_

The invaders numbered about twenty or so men, garbed in black and armed in everything from guns and smoke and tear bombs to knives and shock-sticks. They were yet to resort to lethal force, a wonder to Legolas considering whoever was behind all this had once tried to kill Adrian Aarons in a rather gruesome and definitive way. Nevertheless, he was not complaining. Twenty was a small number, he reflected, even if he was armed with just a letter opener and already quaking from one of the rather unfortunate shocks his now-numbed leg had taken. He could not, however, quell the fact that he wished he had his trusty bow or his trusty gun (which of course he was not allowed to travel with) with him, or the great and trusty Gimli, who'd have raced him to the very last man of that invading twenty.

Breathlessly, he hurried with downing more men, deciding he wanted to finish long before any of those blasted fools he thought he had locked upstairs stepped on the landing.

With a triumphant cry he felled another man with a clever jab, and looked determinedly upon the last five who were ganging up on him and Halvor.

Just when he thought things were finally becoming simple, more of the invaders broke into the living room with a burst of glass and with drawn guns, the red lasers crowing their ends lighting the pitch dark like dots of stars.

"Surrender or be killed," one of the faceless men ordered coolly, but he really should have known that those whom he set out to capture would have absolutely none of that.

Muttering a dwarvish curse he had borrowed from his stout old friend Gimli, Legolas thought of defeat for the barest of moments but did not indulge in it for long. He fell to a knee upon his closest downed foe and unclasped a pair of smoke bombs from the utility vest. He tossed it upon the oncoming intruders, knowing that though his and his allies' vision would be equally impaired, their foes would not resort to the guns lest they fire upon their own men.

In his mind's eye he kept tabs of their positions. His elvish senses would serve him well even before the smoke cleared completely. He would remember where to find them. He felt for his downed foe's guns and prepared them as his own. Crouching low upon the ground, he waited as the smoke swirled and danced about him, shadows lurking here and there…

The room was deathly quiet as each side struggled to regain their bearings, struggled to know at the very least which way to aim. All each could hear was the final hissing of the last of the smoke's release, and the beating of their own hearts…

The silence was broken by a solitary shot, a man's exclamation of shock and pain, and a thud! as he hit the ground. It was the gun Legolas had commandeered, and he used it just about as easily as he used his old bow. The lasers danced as if in a panic, searching for who fired, who was hit. Legolas appreciated that the laser lights told him where the invaders stood.

He fired another shot, and another of his foes was downed. After the first two shots and fatalities, bullets started ripping across the air at random, in panicked bursts that stilled when it was made apparent that they were not hitting anything.

The smoke was clearing fast; Imladris always had a soothing wind about it. Legolas had to work faster. One by one he felled his foes in numbers that perfectly matched what bullets his gun held.

And then a burst of evening wind stripped him of the cover of the smoke, and suddenly he found himself looking across the room at a man whose gun was pointed straight at him by strange, strange chance.

_Or ill luck_…

The moments unfolded like a watery dream. There was something fluid, and languid and slow and clear about that time Brad came up from behind the shooter bearing a vase and crashing it over the man's head. There was something so slow and yet so unavoidably sure about how that bullet still bled from that gun and followed a ragged, raging streak that, though missing the elf's head or his heart, managed to find his arm. The momentum and the _bite_ of the shot made Legolas step back, but it did not sweep him off his feet. He stood firmly even as Brad ran from across the room toward him.

"You're all right?" he asked over the din of the revived battle.

"Yes," Legolas said through grit teeth, "I've had it before. I am not much burdened by it."

"Good," Brad said, but Legolas noticed that the man still held the ground before the elf and seemed ready to defend it with all that he had… which was, Legolas realized to his profound alarm, now that he had already divested himself of his lethal vase, nothing much at all.

The elf pressed the guns into the _adan_'s hands. He commandeered daggers from one of the bodies that littered the ground, and he stepped toward the onslaught of their foes.

" " "

Halvor had taken it upon himself to look after the womenfolk. Eunice and Anatalia were none too pleased about how he hovered, but they soon fought around him, realizing that truly, perhaps he was just made that way.

Emmett took it upon himself toward this end too, of course, never leaving his younger sister's side although unbeknownst to him, she was protecting him too. All he knew was that she was presently felling more foes than he, and even if it made his manliness smart a bit, she was also making him fiercely proud of her.

Adrian turned away from the tight fighting unit of four, his eyes drifting to a concentration of the gunned intruders converged about a struggling Brad and an injured Leland Greene, favoring one arm over the other. He still fought like a mad devil (albeit a graceful one) but the battle was justly taking its toll and little by little, the pair's circle of defense was becoming cut up and infiltrated, making them drift further and further apart.

Setting his jaws in determination and armed with a commandeered shock stick, Adrian Aarons broke through lines of foes with courage and strength that surprised him, and he soon found himself fighting beside Leland.

"Adrian," Leland breathed, "Brad…"

"He's all right," Adrian assured the elf, "He's still standing."

"I'll clear the way," Leland told him determinedly, "I'll watch your back. But you have to go to him."

"You're the one who's hurt," Adrian pointed out, "You need back-up more."

"You've seen my genes, it's nothing," Leland said through gritted teeth as he downed another enemy, "Do not let Brad stand alone."

"And you?" Adrian asked.

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Leland insisted, "I know how the story ends, remember? I know how it all unfolds. Go to him. Do not let him stand alone."

Adrian's brows furrowed. __

"I know how the story ends," Leland said more fiercely, "Adrian. You have to go to him."

With a frustrated shake of his head, Adrian did as the elf bid. He did not know then that it would be the last time this night that he would set his eyes on Leland Greene.

" " "

The house was emptied right quick by the sound of the approaching sirens. Though it was a profound mystery how in the world they could explain to the cops what just happened in there, the group was more than relieved by the welcome interruption.

The remnants of the faceless, black-clad invaders hurriedly escaped, bearing their wounded and even spiriting away their dead… likely to keep from anything being traced back to them. The hit was highly efficient and professional, and though practically all of them escaped, the combined efforts of Halvor, Anatalia, Eowyn and Emmett managed to secure three unconscious prisoners for questioning.

As the police sirens neared, the hardly-presentable-looking group stared at each other in panic. It was like being caught between two stones. Eowyn reflected that the most difficult thing of fighting evil in the modern day was the multiplicity of complications associated with it; in the old days, one fought and killed one's enemy. It was a time of war, and that was all that there was to it. Now, though justly so, the cause was compounded by the interference of the human authorities whose knowledge of the situation was too limited and inextricably political. There was the feds, and the press, all that blasted red tape… It was like being caught against two stones, having to fight two foes.

"Get the lights back on," Adrian said to Halvor, "And then get dressed quickly. You'll get the door if they insist on it. I'll try and tell them to go away from the intercom at the gate."

"What are we going to say?" Ana asked, "They must not be let into house. They'll see the blood. They'll see the mess. They'll investigate, and they'll see the art. And they'll find out about the other things—"

"No one's getting into the house," Adrian winced, "Or at least, not the cops. Where's Leland?"

"Probably ran off after them," Brad said with a grimace, rolling a shoulder that had taken a rather bad hit. Leland, Adrian remembered, was totally correct. Adrian reached Brad just as he fell to the ground weaponless and beneath the poised guns of his enemies, reeling from the precise hit that was hurting him now.

"Guy thinks he's Spider-man," Brad growled, "I'll walk around and look for him."

"No, sit down," Eowyn commanded him, "You could use the rest. We will look." Anatalia nodded beside her.

"There might still be some of the scum littering the grounds," Brad pointed out.

"I'll go with them," Emmett said, breathing in relief when the lights shone over their heads again. Halvor had the electricity back on-line.

Adrian jogged over to the security console near the servant's quarters. The intercom at the gate was revived, and he could see two uniformed police officers dismount their striped car and walk to the speaker box from the view of the gate's cameras.

The police officers activated the com and spoke in their native tongue, making Adrian wince as he spoke to them from the intercom, "Repeat in English please. Um. I'm the new butler."

He saw the two officers glance at the security cameras in annoyance, and then complied with the request. "We received complaints about some noisy gathering there. A party."

"Complaints?" Adrian asked, "We're not having a party."

_Not to mention the fact that we do not have any neighbors_…

"Break it up," the cop said in his heavy accent, "Tell everyone to go home."

"There is nobody here," Adrian said plaintively, "We're not having a party."

"Well we were called with a complaint," the cop argued.

"Well can you hear anything?" Adrian snapped, "No party, officers. Perhaps you've been duped. A practical joke."

"Are you being a wise guy?"

Adrian sighed. It sounded like something the man watched from TV. "No sir," he said wearily, "I'm not. No parties, I promise."  
"If we get called up here again…" the cop said threateningly, just before stalking back to his car. Adrian watched them leave with some relief, and he turned toward the door to find Eowyn, Emmett, Brad, Anatalia and Halvor looking at him with grave expressions on their faces.

"What?" Adrian asked.

"Greene's gone," Brad said flatly, and when the other man's eyes widened despairingly, he hurriedly expounded, "Not dead, man. He's just… he's not here."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Thanks for the c&c's… I've just been in a mad dash lately so I'm fervently trying to discipline myself and keep these posts regular… I for one hate waiting, after all, haha. Oh well. I'm still stuck on chapter 26… but I'll get this done. Thank you for the fire, as always, and I hope you're having fun. Chapter 22 will welcome another familiar face. Want a clue? In chapter 15, Elrohir was walking about 'going underground' and employing a 'hacker.' Some figurative lingo, yes, but in older times, if these were taken literally, I'd likely be referring to a very spirited dwarf, eh? ;)

'TIL THEN!!! :)


	22. Forming

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

22: Forming

" " "

Imladris,

Vienna, Austria

Mid-2004

" " "

They contemplated hurrying to pack the things that were most important to them and leave Imladris for awhile, should the intruders return. Halvor, and the few servants who did not live in the main house but in the un-attacked little quarters abound in the other parts of the estate did not like the idea of abandoning their post to the hands of the enemies.

Anatalia called Elladan to ensure him that most of them were safe, and the twin masters of the house ordered the entire troupe out of Imladris as a precaution.

'This is not a time of war, Halvor,' Elladan said to the manservant soothingly, 'We have no army to fell theirs, we only have each other. And each other we must protect.'

'Your lady mother,' Halvor said haltingly, 'I deface her house with my abandonment.'

'It is not an abandonment,' Elladan said steely, 'Imladris will always stand and it will always belong to our blood. But we must preserve ourselves first.'

Elrohir plucked the mobile from his twin's hands, 'Halvor. No dramatics, my friend. No one's taking over the place like some war prize or captured territory. We have the deeds, eh? Welcome to the new millennium.'

Upon Legolas' disappearance the twins naturally reacted with more worry.

"Do we tell the police?" Adrian asked when Ana yielded the cell phone to him.

"Don't just yet," Elrohir advised, "Besides, they will not act upon it until he's been missing for a number of hours. We will be there by then."

Adrian nodded, "We will search a bit more, perhaps he just tumbled around somewhere here. And we will revive our prisoners for questioning. We'll toss them in your dungeons with some food and drink, then we'll check into a hotel. Have a safe journey. We'll see you in a few hours."

He ended the call and handed the phone back to Ana.

"One more search?" he asked of his friends, and they all quietly dispersed about the grounds.

" " "

They did not yield anything, and it seemed rather plain already that the elf had been captured, for it was not like him at all to simply vanish off with no word, or with no quick return.

When a fair-haired elf burst forth from the coat closet, Adrian's heart soared at what he thought was the safe comeback of Leland Greene. When the angry face lifted up to him, it instead belonged to a sputtering stranger.

"Who the hell are you?" Adrian asked.

" " "

They abandoned the hotel idea for the moment. The elven servants were loyal to the house were rather old but still had a load of the warrior skills of their illustrious kin. Bearing bows and arrows taken from the old arms room, and some rifles left from the world wars, they patrolled the grounds and kept in touch with hands-free digital radios, making for a rather lethal mix of the best of the old and the most useful of the new.

Halvor, bless him, still somehow had the mind to serve tea and cake. They were hoarded voraciously, for the troupe had not known they've fallen into hunger until the foodstuffs was set before them.

Dawn was still hours away, although the chirping of birds now and then could be heard, heralding the coming of the new day. Most of the group sat about the living room, breezier now that the windows have been blasted away, curtains billowing about them. Halvor busied himself with the dusting away of the glass shards and the mopping of the blood, and Brad and Emmett busied themselves tying up the three rousing prisoners as they spoke of what had happened and what the next step was.

The cabinet-closet-elf was an agent of Interpol, Halvor had said to the others a bit sheepishly. He said that Master Legolas shoved him there to keep him alive and to keep him from stirring up trouble with his little gun. He apologized for forgetting about the agent in all the madness.

Horace Harding sat upright and very uptight amidst the strangers. He looked a bit disheveled, golden wisps of his hair out of place here and there, though Adrian reflected that he really shouldn't look so different from all the rest of them.

"Where's Greene?" Harding demanded.

"They took him," Eowyn replied, watching the other's face and wondering if she knew him. He looked familiar… perhaps not in this incarnation but as someone else, long ago. Legolas surely saw it fit to protect him, although it seemed Halvor was clueless of who he was.

_Well you're regal and pompous enough to have once been an elf_, she reflected wryly, noting that though he must have been famished, he did not partake of their inviting feast.

"Who took him, Ms. Rigare?" he asked, and her brows raised at the fact that she was known to him. He read her face clearly. "I do know you. I'm investigating Fortress Defense."

"Why?" Emmett demanded, "What have we done to merit the attentions of Interpol?"

Horace was hesitant. "I cannot talk of this at length and with particularities, especially with you. Suffice to say anything and anyone dealing in arms and weapons are obviously of concern to us."

"How did you come to be here?" Eowyn asked him.

"I was looking into your company," Harding replied, "And detected an electronic inquiry that was being too nosy. A hacker, if you will. I let him give the information to his client. I wanted to see who it was. I have the hacker in my custody, and now I have questions to ask of the owners of this house, his clients. And now… well _you_ of all people are here. The heirs to the financial empire. Why would you have to steal information from your own company? Your own uncle? Are you the ones behind the stock-hoarding?"

"We are not trying a hostile takeover," Emmett replied, "But someone is. I am no longer… in the loop in the company, you could say. I have a suspicion, and I want him dealt with before he does something with the company."

"Or you're creating its fall yourself," Harding pointed out, "Like a disgruntled employee turned saboteur."

"Tempting thought," Emmett said dryly, "But I've been investigating this for awhile, not just since I got the boot. And someone is after us too, you saw it yourself."

"Who is after you?" Harding asked.

"We don't know," Adrian replied with a wince, "And so we don't know either why they took Detective Greene." He paused in thought, "Our hacker is with you?"

"Yes," Harding replied, "I deposited him in one of our outposts here in Vienna."

"We need him," Adrian said.

"I'm not going to lend him," Harding replied coolly, "I'm not even certain if you are the ones to be trusted here. I have to speak to my captain."

"Listen," said Brad, "We can kill you here and now and bury you in the back with no one knowing any better, 007. But we won't. Because we're the good guys. You tell your bosses about all this right now, and stuff will leak that we'd rather not get into and believe me, when you find out what it is, you'll hate it too. So. Lend us the hacker, be privy to all the info that you want, file your report, be a hero, save the world, etc., etc. We'll let you watch over our shoulders, just don't jog the elbow. Does that work for you?"

"They are waking," Ana said quietly of the three prisoners, who were squirming against their bonds.

Adrian loomed over the three men threateningly. In the light, and with lesser numbers, they seemed young and though hardened by their harsh few years, they did not look so tough now.

"Who sent you?" he asked them darkly.

Naturally, none of them replied.

"Where's Leland Greene?" he asked.

And was once again met with the same silence.

The doctor set his jaws and stepped away from them, considering them one by one. Hardwing watched the group work with narrowed eyes, considering his options and weighing in his own curiosity. He rose from his seat and gently but authoritatively pushed Adrian Aarons aside.

"I'm Agent Horace Harding with Interpol," he said coolly, showing them his identification. "You know what kind of trouble you're in, gentlemen? Assault, industrial espionage, attempted murder, kidnapping, destruction of property, likely terrorism too. We're talking international court here, guys, with everything from the books thrown at you for an intricate rap sheet that will send you to jail. The world is in my hands, my friends, and I personally guarantee that all your silence will buy for you is the darkest cells in the worst corners of the planet, where people will forget you and you'll never see the light of day again, and life will be long and time will be unbearably slow. And the buddies you protect will be wealthy beyond belief and dancing around in the sun. They left you, remember? You're all mercenaries here. I only ask you to be… what you already are. Buy your freedom, gentlemen. Buy the breezes and the sun. Turn witness. No one's a squealer here, we're all just being practical." The Interpol agent turned to the table for an effective dramatic pause and casually bit into a muffin. "Good stuff," he said to Halvor before turning back to the three, "I'll let you think about it."

He walked away from them, and toward the windows. Adrian watched him with wry appreciation. He turned to the thoughtful young faces. He hoped they would break. He hoped they would talk. The sooner they found out where Leland was and who held him captive, all the better.

" " "

Elladan, Elrohir, Gandalf and Faramir returned just before the rising of the sun. Though they were displeased to find the troupe had not left Imladris for the safety of some other place, this was definitely overshadowed by their relief.

What was a great and profound shock to them, though, was to find Haldir of Lothlorien sitting beside a surprisingly towering and heavy-set Gimli Gloin's son in their living room.

Eowyn, who was the only one of the group left in the house who already reclaimed her old memories was watching their faces impishly. No one else—Brad, Adrian, Anatalia, Emmett and Halvor-- knew who Gimli was. Gimli himself did not even know who he was! Gandalf's shining eyes met hers. The fellowship was forming, and though Legolas was lost for the moment, the sight of the 'dwarf' was giving him hope.

"Horace Harding of Interpol," Adrian said to the new arrivals, "And Jimmy Goran. Your hacker. Agent Harding traced you from Goran. Harding's investigating Fortress Defense."

"Fine trouble you got me into, laddies," the hacker glared at Elrohir and Elladan, not quite sure which was which although he, a purveyor of information, obviously knew who his long-time clients were.

"Unbelievable," Elrohir breathed, "All these years… And you're taller and smarter than me."

Elladan stepped toward Goran, who was already manning a laptop. Those questions can be answered later. "What can you tell us about our missing friend?"

"Your little hostages over there were of some help," Goran replied, turning his attention on the computer, "The intruders did not come here with intent to kill. They came to capture. You lot are wanted for some sort of questioning. They're not sure who they work for-- they are part of a group of mercenaries contracted toward assassination and kidnapping, and only their top people know their clients. Anyway, with orders for capture, you have something their boss wants and chances are, they'll keep your lad alive."

"But where is he?" Elrohir asked, "We do not have much at all."  
"I wasn't done yet," Goran snapped, "We don't know the client but we know the bosses, eh? And we know their strongholds too."

"Strongholds?" Elrohir asked.

"There are two in Europe," Goran replied, "I do not know yet which they would go to. I argue that nearer is the best bet, but these three are saying they've also been known to deliver the goods to the client in high-paying cases like these."

Elrohir sighed, closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose in deep, despairing thought.

"We have time," he said, mostly to comfort himself, "They will keep him alive as long as they think he has something to give to them. And Legolas will stay alive because he never breaks. He'll wait for us."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Thanks for the r&r's. Unbelievable, I'm still stuck at chapter 26! Crazy! But I'm working, I am, I promise :) Please keep the reviews coming if you can, chapter 23 will be up soon and afterwards and we'll all know where Leland Greene is :) 'Til then!!!


	23. To Wait

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

23: To Wait

* * *

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he's been awake for awhile, although nothing seemed to register, nothing seemed to make sense, nothing seemed to be making a lasting impact on him. It was likely how it felt to be swimming in mud, although it was a past time he's never tried before…

He did not feel detached from the world, rather it felt as if he stood at its center and it was the one hovering all around him in strange shapes, strange colors, strange sounds, dancing and dancing all around him. Time did not exist in this strange place where he saw and heard and felt, yet could not… could not quite… _participate_.

The state was comforting, yes, yet even here, he knew that there were things from the outside that hurt but insistently demanded his attention.

He thought he sighed. He must have, because it was certainly one of those resigning, _nothing-I-can-do-but-sigh _moments. And then his vision cleared and his senses sharpened, and he found himself in a situation that really was worthy of wanting to escape from.

He was sore. He was grimy. He was bound to a chair that was so hard it surely would have been uncomfortable enough already without the binds on his arms, wrists, legs and ankles done so tightly and so annoyingly well that it could only be described as either _obsessive _or _professional_. He could have stopped there and it really would have been all right… he has, after all, been in like situations before. What he did not appreciate was the vicious throbbing of his wounded arm that sent fire through his veins and occupied quite a bit of his concentration. What he appreciated far less, was the rather proud and profoundly unwelcome face of Grima Wormtongue looking at him with a smug smile on his face.

"Legolas of Mirkwood," Grima greeted him slyly, "I know your face, hm? Welcome back."

The elf met the manic gaze coolly. "I suppose," his voice sounded wearier than he desired and he gulped to regain some of its strength, "I suppose I should say the same of you."

Grima's brows rose. "Indeed. Indeed you should. I have at last reclaimed myself."

"Then you do not have much at all, do you?" Legolas pointed out.

Grima was annoyed, yet he disliked to show a lack of control. "Also fair of you to say. Much as it irks me. But as you can see… I am no longer a pawn of someone else's game."

"Saruman?" Legolas inquired.

Grima almost burst with his pride. "Imagine how terrible it was, to suddenly know of a rather embarrassing past and discover the present conditions are similar. _Me_, once again working for that ungrateful _filth_. The game is mine now, elf. Armed with my knowledge of exactly who I was, I've turned the tide. Now he works for me." he laughed scornfully, "My old master has turned into my slave. Blackmail is a very, very clever thing, isn't it? Now his company is mostly mine, and Theoden's too. I've set my life along a different course. The game is _mine_. I have all the armies and the weapons I need to win it. At last, after all these ages and all these lifetimes."

"What game?" Legolas asked.

"You know what game," Grima snapped, "I am here, you are here. Saruman is here. Theoden, Eomer, Eowyn, they are here too. And then that blasted heir of Isildur and your cursed wizard too. If we are all here, then surely something else awaits finding. You know of what I speak."

"The ring of power was destroyed long ago," Legolas retorted, "You know that."

"And we all died long ago too," countered Grima, "You, elf, must know that _very_ well. If we are all back here now, something of the ring or like it is here too. You will tell me where it is."  
"I do not know where it is," replied Legolas, "I even doubt that it is here. Did I not just attempt to refute you?"

"But you gather the fellowship again," Grima pointed out, "It is obviously for a purpose. I've been pondering my options for over a year. This is a life anew, a chance to change how the story is told. I know much, and therefore there is much that I can do. I've done away with Isildur's line, for that blasted family is dangerous to me. Eomer was next, and then Theoden too. You and Gandalf would have been in that short list if I found you sooner. Eowyn would have been mine. I'd have ruled the world without contest, for my unwitting foes have been felled long before their purpose of stopping me was revealed to them. Oh, you had to interfere, didn't you? Of course you did, you were born for it. But the ending is changed, this time. I will rule. I will win. I will craft a new future out of knowing my flawed past. I regret that life, but I cannot regret that it has given me knowledge I can use to shape my world now. _My_ game, elf. _Mine_."

Legolas watched his fervent, hungry face. Grima, though he had scarred his own soul with faulty choices, likely deserved more pity than hate. He was always a pawn, always hungry, always… _needy_. He was oft lost, and held no true anchor. A cursed fate it was to be thus. Legolas liked believing that it was one of those strange reasons the compassionate Valar had toward the resurrection of a man who probably merited a second chance in life. The same for the wizard Saruman. _Here is another life, do with it as you _will, he imagined the gods to say, _do good. Life can be kinder if you let it._ But by incident, Grima Wormtongue rediscovered his old life and reacted like a recalcitrant child, unknowingly bringing himself to the same place, and lending himself to the same brand of evil rather than breaking from it. The only difference is that when once he had been a pawn, now he has turned himself into the master, in a misled effort to change his fate.

"Your game," Legolas echoed, "As you wish it. But there are no pieces to play. There is no ring."

"Or its like!" snapped Grima, "The ring or its like! Where is it? You know, you know! Or the halflings do! They must have it, they had it long ago! Where are the halflings? Where is the ring?"

"It was destroyed long ago—" Legolas was insisting, but Grima cut him off with a raise of his hand.

"I'm tired of this," he said, trying to regain his calm, "I knew from the start you would not speak of it to me. It is no surprise. I expected as much. I wish to beat the answer out of you but I have not the patience. You'll hold your tongue, I know you always have. But times have changed and the fates have offered us newer solutions."

"There is nothing to tell," Legolas told him coolly, not really wishing to discover what those 'newer solutions' meant. He looked about him and only began to realize that he was in a rather sterile-looking room that had the smell, the look, and the air of a hospital.

"We shall see soon enough," Grima promised him, "You'll tell me your darkest secrets, I guarantee. I've just merged some of the greatest competencies of the two companies I am quickly acquiring. Bioengineering and Military. I'll give you a guess what I had my clever scientists come up with."

"Whatever it is," Legolas said boldly, "It won't work."

"Well it was bound for a trial," Grima said with a shrug, "You know, it's in its clinical testing stage-- animals and things to ensure its not lethal in the proper doses. Although the best test is for humans and their like species, undoubtedly. You'll further our research and further my own personal quest, master elf. I wonder… I wonder if you have you ever heard of the proverbial Truth Serum?"

* * *

Imldris,

Mid-2004

* * *

Adrian stared at the two blips on the hacker's screen. The two bases in Europe of the mercenary group were situated in Greece and the U.K. They were roughly of equal distance from Imladris, and there was lots of places to stop in between and only too many means of traveling from one place to another. Not to mention the fact that they could be bringing Legolas to their 'client' instead, who could literally be anywhere, especially after they've just eliminated the completely knocked-out Saruman as a suspect in Switzerland. The possibilities were endless. They were once again back to Grissom Warrington, who actually presented really very little threat at present, outside of his white collar crimes.

He sighed, really very well-aware of the fact that staring would be of little help. But the answers were surely not elsewhere. His cell phone rang, and he excused himself from the group to say hello to his mother.

"Yes, I'm alive," he winced a reply; she was a bit irked at him for not informing her of his whereabouts and was speaking figuratively when she said she was relieved to find him alive. He decided not to inform her that his reply was literal in contrast.

"I'm sorry, mom," he said, smiling a little at something she said, "I know, I know. I'm old but I'm your responsibility until I get married… umhm… not for lack of trying… I'm in Europe… It's beautiful, it's really amazing… well I have to go, I'm working on that wife you keep telling me to get… Yes… yes… I love you too." He ended the call and pocketed the phone, decided that he missed her. His fingers brushed at the lump of the cell phone in his coat pocket thoughtfully, wondering why the situation seemed so familiar…

_

* * *

_

_A cell phone rang, breaking him from his reverie. Emmett, Eowyn, Anatalia, Adrian and himself scrambled for their mobiles._

_"It's mine," Legolas declared, rising from his seat in the library and commandeering a corner. "Greene."_

_"Leland, I think someone's after you," Montes said without any greeting or introduction._

_The Mirkwood elf, unsurprised over a fact he was well-aware of, sighed wearily. "I've been dreading hearing your voice lately, Rafe. Do you never call just because you miss me—"_

_"Be serious, Greene," his partner barked, "I don't know what's happening, but I'm in the middle of your really trashed apartment right now. A few hours ago, I was standing in your doc's place—and ballistics was there just days ago!—and your two other friends'."_

_"Was anyone hurt?" Legolas asked urgently. Now this… this he did not expect. Now he was part of a hit-list alongside Aragorn's heir? And someone was ingenious and resourceful enough to have traced him?_

_"Your door man," Rafe replied, "Some messy business there. Someone tried to beat some answers out of him. He's still alive, though. Lucky, stubborn bastard…"_

_"Rafe, I'm going to need you to look after a woman," Legolas said immediately, sparing Adrian, who was eyeing him with suspicion, a quick glance, "Rowena Aarons. Someone wants to get to the doctor, Montes, and though they do not involve the women, they might take her just to smoke him out."_

_"Is this the Mafia?" Montes asked._

_"No," Legolas said insistently, "Look in on her, Montes. Please. As soon as you can. Right now if you can. Look out for that family. Go."_

_"All right, all right," said the other detective, "Hey. Watch your back."_

_Rafe hung up, and Legolas pocketed his cellphone and looked toward the others in the room who were staring at him expectantly. The Mirkwood elf was just about to open his mouth to inform them of the latest developments when he heard the chimes from the main gate sound. His heart pounded, and his eyes raked the room for Halvor, and, well, a weapon..._

* * *

_Legolas__ pocketed his cell phone…_

_Legolas pocketed his cell phone_!

Adrian's eyes could have leapt from their sockets. He rushed to the hacker and urgently asked, "Cell phone! If he had it with him, isn't there some kind of tracking, like in GPS? Global positioning? Is there any way…?"

"A cell phone!" the hacker exclaimed, as if it was so obvious and simple, "No one told me he had a cell phone with him."

"Get to it," Adrian told him quickly, "Get to it."

There was a breathless anxiety about the room as the hacker's deft fingers danced over the keyboards, the only sound in the thick, expectant silence.

Goran drummed his fingers against the table as he impatiently awaited for his skills to break through the security software. He grinned to himself as the page loaded, and he began typing again. Codes and numbers and strange words covered the screen and scrolled up and down; no one else in the room could quite understand what they were for, but the hacker seemed vastly pleased by his handiwork.

"Number?" Goran murmured, and Adrian already had his mobile ready and read over Leland Greene's.

Taking a deep, dramatic breath, Goran lifted up his hands from the keyboard with a flourish, just as the screen dimmed to a map with a blinking dot upon it.

"There he is," Goran declared. He clicked on the dot and the map zoomed in on the outskirts of Rome, Italy.

"Is it stationary?" Gandalf asked.

Goran clicked on the dot again and the map moved even closer. "It's stationary. Either that's where Leland Greene is being kept, or somebody had the brains to take that thing from him at last and tossed it, or… or it's a body dump."

"What's in that area?" Adrian asked.

Goran zoomed in again. "Some buildings, but the phone's in some empty construction zone. Body dump?"

"They tossed it," Adrian said determinedly, "They must have found it on him before they turned him over to their client and got rid of it."

_I cannot believe what you suggest…_

Emmett pressed closer to the screen. "I know where that is. Warrington is definitely behind everything now, I know it."  
"What place is that?" Gandalf asked, as Elladan and Elrohir scurried away to ready their weapons and things for a quick move and retrieval effort.

"Fortress has three main holdings in Rome," Emmett replied, "One is the administrative building, and two are R&D facilities. That construction site is right near one of them. That facility is in the middle of a lockdown. There was a strike some weeks ago. It's supposed to be empty. If he wants to do something illegal, that's where he'll have the space and privacy."

"Can this thing get any closer?" Adrian asked of the zoom, "Like, building schematics?"

"You ask for much," Goran replied, shaking his head, "It's not going to happen."

"I know that place like the back of my hand," Emmett said, "I will take you."

"Wait," Brad asked, "We're all just going to break into this place, manned by people armed to the teeth? Why don't we just set the cops on their tails? I mean, we got Interpol right here!"

Harding shook his head. "That's going to be a big breakout. Interpol is more stealthy until it's sure and that is hardly what you are. And the cops can't help you at all. They're tied up in red tape, so to speak. To invade that place just based on what you say, they need probable cause and search warrants and seizure warrants and warrants of arrest. If they don't have these, likely the crooks will walk because what the police did was illegal."

"That's just crazy," Brad muttered.

"If you were falsely accused," Hardwick pointed out, "You'd appreciate it."

"So basically we're on our own," breathed Brad, "Great."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Sorry I'm just in such a rush lately, I'm like working on fifty million things and am just fervently trying to keep my posts regular. I've finished chapter 26 at last, and am beginning with 27. I just want to say a quick big THANK YOU to all who read and all who review. I'm really trying to keep up the posts and the quality so that I won't waste your valuable time :) You guys are great and thank you so much for sharing your time with my little offering :)

Anyway, some quick answers to your questions so that you'd still have a worthwhile reading experience… I know it gets very confusing :)

ON HALDIR. I know I went off the whole elvish thing with this one, and though it may sound like a cop-out, I always figured that the gods will place you when and where you're needed, so he makes a comeback here in this way :)

ON HOBBITS. I'm trying to make a curious twist on the story here and stuff like these (my big-arc plans) are usually written at the end of my stories, those Notes I love writing. But since everyone's looking for hobbits, I'll say this much at this time: the big events of LOTR began with them, and then things just kind of coalesced around them. This story is going to be… the reverse. I'll expound on this idea later, and in my Notes you'll know why I did this. Anyway, expect our foursome in later chapters :)

ON INTERPOL. International Police… captures the imagination, doesn't it, like real 007 stuff :) Very cool :) I thought if Haldir could belong to some new modern force, it has to be the super elite one, haha.

ON GIMLI. I wanted to throw the elves a curveball by making him tall. I read that the actor who played Gimli is actually taller than Orlando Bloom, haha, is this true? Anyway, the elves know everything in this scenario I figured they could use a handy surprise (aside from the fact that the dwarf's been right under their noses this whole time).

Anyway, Chapter 24 is coming up and it's the longest chapter of all… also my favorite although I hope it comes out all right because it's very complicated (almost as complicated as me, haha).

THANKS AGAIN AND 'TIL THEN!!!


	24. Rescue

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

24: Rescue

" " "

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

" " "

_Truth is actually very relative_, Legolas reflected dizzily. He's not very sure if he said it aloud. Likely he did. He could not tell very well anymore. Though he was almost mightily sure. But not really. Or maybe not really because he hoped not really. But he's not so sure.

_The stuff is potent_, he thought, or maybe, again, he said it aloud. He could not tell very well anymore. His thoughts were jumping, and he was weary but his mind was bursting. Every question had some sort of answer. His will may be strong but it inextricably is, after all, encased by a body that had its earthly limits.

He remembered he squirmed and struggled, and pretty much bit at the hands that tried to touch him at the start. It only earned for him one more new set of ropes and this time about his neck. In the end they had their way, and he knew they would when he struggled at the start but really, it wasn't a waste of time if he at least shared with them some of his misery.

But that was hours ago. Or maybe days ago. He's not so sure. He could not tell very well anymore. They stuck a needle through a vein on his forearm and it stayed there, connected to an I.V. that held some clear… _stuff_. He looked up on that clear, unlabeled plastic bag containing harmless-looking clear liquid that dripped down a tube and into his body. It did not hurt, and the effects were more akin to falling into a restless sleep than any poison he's had the misfortune to encounter ages ago.

As Wormtongue said, it was not meant to kill. It was just made to make him talk.

But his heart was pounding, even as his limbs were leaden and his head was heavy and swimming, lolling this way and that. But his mind was jumping from thought to thought and really, that mad mad heart is about to burst.

He remembered, rather dryly, that Wormtongue said the damned thing did not kill _in the right dosage_, and he's not quite sure how much he's had by now.

As he said. Or thought. Or whatever. Truth is actually very relative. They asked him where the ring was and he said he didn't know. And cursed bastards wouldn't let up until they heard the truth they wanted. So they dosed him again and asked the same question. And again, and again for endless hours. Or days. He could not tell very well anymore.

Grima did not care if he died, that was obvious enough. He just wanted his answers. He just wanted that blasted ring which is, truth be told, no longer in existence as far as the elf knew!

In a way, Legolas was relieved that they were not asking him of things he did know about. That would be harsher, to have to reveal something that would end up useful to his enemies and endangering his friends. The Truth Serum did not play fair; no will could hold up against it because it deprived one of the choice in the first place. Though it hurt infinitely more, Legolas reflected that he much preferred the old-style beatings…

There were a few good questions though that Legolas had answered.

"Do you think you can escape from me?"

The elf smiled. It was funny, and impish and proud, but he knew it was true. "Yes."

"Are your friends coming for you?"

"They are crazy enough to."

"Would they know where to go?"

"They might."

"Do they know I'm behind all the killings, behind this new plot?"

He fervently tried to resist that one. This resolve only earned him another dose. "They think it," he muttered an hour or two later, and he really was rather irritated at them at this point.

Grima's eyes narrowed in thought. Of course they would think it, Emmett Rigare loathed the ground he walked on, and he did have _this_ familiar face to show of which Gandalf would be familiar. But could they make the link between him and the attacks? Could they find him here? Either way, just in case, extra precautions must be taken tonight.

" " "

They retrieved the phone first, and were very relieved that it did not come with a friend's dead body. Harding kept it in safekeeping, seeing as most of their group would otherwise be occupied. Though the search was theoretically left cold because of the abandoned mobile they were tracing, the best thing to go on was Emmett's theory that they held Leland Greene near, especially linked as the place was to their top suspect Grissom Warrington. And so, they plotted their rescue plan.

Although Elladan would have been more comfortable leaving Anatalia in her father's house, or in a hotel somewhere between there and Rome, or in a spa or a parlor or _anywhere_ but where he himself was going, and much preferred to bring one of his elven servants instead, she pointed out rather cunningly that she was far more clever behind the wheel of an escape car than any of his old kin. He had to admit it was true enough. She had an army of cars, especially in Italy where most of her family assets were based, for one. And secondly, he could testify with some white hairs and nausea that she was a big road hazard from when he lived in Italy with her some months ago and she offered to take him around.

Eowyn would not be left; one amongst the few of them with reclaimed memories, the Shieldmaiden of Rohan had a good sword swing to her yet. Her brother was the guide, naturally, though he'd have gone anywhere she went to protect her, as if she did not have enough protection from Faramir already. Gandalf and Elrond's twins naturally headed the group, and Horace Harding did indeed decide to look very closely over their shoulders. Jimmy Goran was dragged along to scramble the security systems with the promise of pardon and a few hundred thousand euros for his services. Brad had his hands on the wheel of the group's second car, and Adrian Aarons came along for some extra muscle, in case there was a need for immediate medical help, and for some manic brainstorming in tight spots that only the heirs of Aragorn could possibly have the troublesome talent for.

It was a fairly well-rounded team if Gandalf had ever seen one; functionally divisible with clearly defined roles. He's gone into greater dangers with seemingly far less (_i.e., hobits to Mordor amongst those that quickly came to mind, although that particular episode turned out surprisingly brilliantly with each fellow turned toward a great and once-hidden destiny_).

They were clad in the black of the night; they arrived some hours ago but could not attack until the cover of darkness. As the sun set they hunched low just outside the compound inside their cars.

The vehicle piloted by Brad contained the unimaginatively called Team A comprised of Eowyn, Faramir, Emmett, Goran and Harding. They were primarily tasked with the security and technology part of the rescue operation. Team B-- Elladan, Elrohir, Adrian, Gandalf and Emmett in Ana's car, was primarily tasked with retrieval.

"Comm check," Elladan murmured upon the hands-free digital radio they've commandeered from Imladris.

"This is Harding, over," said the Interpol agent, "I read you loud and clear, over."

"Do we really have to say that?" Elrohir whispered to his twin, mimicking, "This is Elrohir, over."

One by one, they ensured their communication links were in good working order. And then, _then_, the operation truly began.

" " "

Phase One of the plan was to take out the enemy high ground. This classification involved anything that had anything to do with eliminating the vantage point of their foe, any logistical advantage that they had. Originally, it was just to take over the security system—Emmett described it, and Jimmy Goran found a way around it—_naturally!_ He exclaimed, for anyone who'd have doubted his genius.

But since they got to within sight of the building, they saw that the mercenaries gave it their own brand of protection and upon the roof, three guards (_and if they were unlucky enough, they were snipers too…_) stood armed and ready, looking down at the activities below.

And so the group parked a block away, just behind the construction site next to the Fortress compound, and decided that naturally, for any real plan to come to action, the guards on the roof must be taken down.

"When we take them down," Elrohir said in a low voice, knowing everyone could hear him over the comm., "There's no turning back. We have to see it to the end the very moment of the very first strike. We have to move more quickly, we have to be in and out before they notice their fallen men, or if they failed to report in."

"When you take them down?!" Goran replied, "From where we are? You're damned ambitious!"

Elrohir looked at his twin brother jauntily. "I believe the dwarf issued us with an interesting challenge. Are you up for it?"

"Who's the dwarf?" the ex-dwarf asked in confusion.

"Of course I'm up for it," Elladan grinned, "I think the best weapons for such a seemingly impossible shot is still those of the Elvish make, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Elrohir agreed. "So. I guarantee the shot is going to be made, my friends. We'll need a bit of a shift in the work assignments since my brother and I will be otherwise occupied here. Hm. Faramir, go with Emmett?"

"Consider it done," said the regal soldier coolly.

" " "

Three arrows were fired in rapid succession from the streets and they faithfully met their mark, all the way up on the roof of the ten-story building.

And then the original Phase One began at last with Adrian Aarons cutting down the power to half the city. It was outrageous and crazy, but then again he thought about it himself and he did have some of Aragorn's blood in him. The idea was very inspired, considering it was an effective solution to their first roadblock.

According to Emmett, the Fortress building was completely wired by security cameras, and there really was no way they could enter the property undetected unless these cameras were taken out. But since the circuits of the building were inside, to get to these circuits they would be seen by the cameras they were trying to stop and therefore really defeating the purpose. They cannot shut the power of the single building alone; those switches were found inside too. So Adrian Aarons raised his hand with a suggestion that he was almost embarrassed to make, but that they all ended up following. The city power they _can_ access after all…

Especially in a very crude manner. They invaded the nearest pole they could find, right next to their car. And what happened next was really rather easy to decipher—Adrian donned a utility uniform with a multi-pocketed vest and a helmet they bought from a kinky costume store down the street, protected himself with a pair of handy rubber gloves and a safety rig, and then electrical wires met the sharp end of an Elvish knife.

The very breath the lights went out, Emmett and Faramir broke into a run and adroitly sneaked into the compound unseen, taking great advantage of the dark and the initial disorientation. They brought with them Jimmy Goran's favorite hacker device. Emmett knew they had less than one minute to get to the circuit board in the basement before the generator kicked in.

They ran madly, dodging too-close foes whom they could see with their night-vision glasses, but to whom they were disguised by the blackness. They descended the metal stairs to the empty basement.

"There!" Emmett said in a low voice, pointing to a plexi-glass encased blinking panel on the wall. Emmett always insisted in order in all avenues of his enterprise, and it was readily apparent when they opened the glass and found all the wires properly labeled. They attached Jimmy Goran's compact device to the wires of the security cameras and closed the glass and ducked behind a cabinet of miscellaneous maintenance wares just as the generator kicked in and slowly lit up the entire establishment.

" " "

"Come on, Goran," Elrohir breathed into the comm. to speak to the hacker in the other car, "Show us what we're paying you for."

"Sit tight that little ass," Goran muttered, "Ha!"

They were in different cars, but Elrohir heard the cry of triumph and grinned.

Goran's laptop lit up with all the views of the security cameras within the compound. Now they could see what the security people inside were seeing. Brad leaned to get a closer look from his place on the driver's seat, and Eowyn and Harding moved in close too from their place at the back.

"Tell the two louts inside to duck lower," Goran said, for he could see the tops of the pair of heads from the security camera view of the basement.

"Emmett?" Elrohir called with the comm., "Faramir?"

"We heard," Faramir said quietly, and Eowyn watched with relief when her brother and her husband vanished from view.

"Goran?" Elrohir asked.

"Yeah, yeah, give me three minutes to loop," replied the hacker.

The idea was to record three minutes of the security camera coverage where nothing was happening. And then, they would play it for the security watchers inside, and loop it over and over until they rescued Leland Greene and left the building, with no trace of them ever being recorded and their presence hopefully never being detected. It was Goran's handiwork, overcoming their second roadblock. Now, they managed to take away the enemy's unblinking eyes. Not only could they go around the compound unnoticed, they even took the advantage away from the foes—_we can see you, but you can't see us_.

Goran finished recording the three minutes of peaceful footage. And then he typed commands that ate into the Fortress security system, and the cameras inside now surely played whatever it was that he wanted them to see.

"You're clear," Goran declared, grinning at his car companions proudly. This was a man who enjoyed his work, and Harding's eyes narrowed in thought. This was also a man who should be working for Interpol… But really, they ought to get through the night first.

"There," Eowyn said softly, pointing to one of the small screens that dotted Goran's LCD. "I can see Legolas."

"What does the place look like, Eunice?" Emmett asked his sister over the comm.

Goran zoomed in on the screen and frowned at the strange sight of the handsome young blond fellow who was strapped to a seat he sagged against, with a tube attached to his arm.

"I think it's the infirmary," Eowyn replied.

"Where's that?" Adrian asked.

"Sixth floor, east," Emmett said quickly. "The cameras are out but you're going to need to get through a bunch of guards. Faramir and I passed by several."

Faramir called up the images in his mind, recalling, "About eight guards at the door. Three loitering near the elevators. None at the stairwell. Move quickly, they all have radios and can report the disturbance at any time. We will strike them from within as you enter, that we may take them all out from both sides. Signal us." He sounded confident, but he glanced at his companion uncertainly. Eomer of Rohan was a fighter, yes, but he slept within a professional businessman. "That is if you're up to it," Faramir said belatedly.

"I can hold my own," Emmett guaranteed him, and they both unsheathed their borrowed elven daggers and commandeered shock-sticks. They had guns, yes, but they needed the stealth more and decided to make use of these only in extreme situations.

Phase Two officially began when Elladan, Elrohir, Gandalf and Adrian stealthily made for the entrance to the building, and their two other fellows slowly emerged from the basement and stood in wait behind the door to the stairwell.

"Now," Elladan commanded, and they burst into the door as Faramir and Emmett burst from the stairwell.

" " "

"Fools didn't know what hit them," Goran said, nodding his approval as he watched the fight break out from the screen of his laptop. He stretched his arms over his head, and when his sleeve lifted, Eowyn smiled at the sight of the little axe tattoo on his wrist.

_Hacker indeed_, she reflected, _we do come in strange forms_…

"Take one of their radios," Harding said over the comm., "So we'll know what they're talking about."

Brad looked at him, impressed. "You really are 007."

"Anatalia?" Eowyn called over the comm., remembering that the woman was alone in the other car. "Are you all right over there?"  
"Yes," came the quick, tense reply, "They are doing well?"  
"They are doing very well," Eowyn affirmed, watching the screens. "We'll know when they'll be out. Would you want to join us?"  
"I won't have the nerve to watch," the other woman replied with a nervous chuckle. Truth was, already just by the sounds, she already had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. She was tough, yes, but this was an entirely new situation and she wasn't insane enough not to be afraid for herself, and the man she loved and the things he cared for. A part of her wanted to watch, but a greater part wished to hold her ground. She had to be prepared. She had to be prepared for when Elladan rushes out those doors and jumps into the car and tells her to floor the gas. He trusted her with this role and she won't let him down.

" " "

The six warriors stood mightily over their defeated foes, and Gandalf picked up one of the radios as per Horace Harding's suggestion.

"They do not seem aware of us yet," the wizard announced, for the radios were not cackling with demands of reports or updates or inquiries into what was happening.

"Good," Adrian said, "The sooner we're out of here, the better. Sixth floor east?"

The group took the stairwell, and stopped at the landing of the sixth floor, just behind the door.

"Is the hall clear?" Adrian asked over the comm. to Goran and company who could see it from their view of the security cameras.

"The entire bloody floor isn't clear," growled Goran.

"How bad?" Gandalf asked.

"Four guards in the hall," Eowyn replied, "two stand outside the infirmary. Two more are inside with Legolas and Wormtongue."

"That's not so bad," Brad commented, "You took care of the last ones easy."

"But Legolas is caught right in the middle," said Gandalf gravely. "We have to be very careful."

"Is he in good shape?" Elrohir asked, "Can he move? Can he run?"

"He's pretty out of it," Goran answered, "Or maybe more like _really_ out of it."

"He seems semi-conscious," Eowyn said more informatively, "He's tied to a chair. He's drugged."

Elrohir muttered a curse and he looked to his brother. "So?"

Adrian's mind was racing. He was at the brink of some idea. Fred was looking at him knowingly, and that was an uncomfortable gaze because it was so… trusting. As if the other knew Adrian would come up with something before he himself did.

"What's in that evil mind?" Elladan asked wryly.

" " "

Eowyn peered close to the laptop screen. Grma Wormtongue was circling a very disoriented-looking Legolas, and both were talking. She wished she could hear what they were saying.

And then a thought came to her. "Goran, record that."

"All right," the hacker said uncertainly, "What for?"  
"It's going to show my uncle that my brother is right," Eowyn said with a proud smile, "That man is a bastard. We're going to bury Wormtongue, one way or another."

" " "

"Goran, signal!" Adrian commanded after he told his team of his brainchild.

"Everyone in this group is so demanding," the hacker muttered, watching the screen carefully. The doctor was kind of demented, for a doctor. He just went and thought of something crazy again.

"Now!" Goran exclaimed.

Adrian, Gandalf, Emmett and Faramir burst from the stairwell door when Goran signaled them that the four pacing guards were right in front of it. As they drove the four guards to the ground, Elladan and Elrohir maneuvered for a clear shot amidst the tangle of limbs and took down the two guards by the door of the infirmary with a pair of swift, true and clever arrows.

They moved to the door, and froze in front of it. Adrian, Emmett, Faramir and Gandalf rendered their own foes unconscious and joined the twin sons of Elrond.

"What's happening inside?" Adrian asked the other team.

"We can't hear what they're saying," Eowyn replied over the comm. urgently, "but they seem agitated. I think maybe they heard something from outside."

"I don't think we were very quiet," Elrohir admitted.

"Get away from the door!" Brad exclaimed, as he watched the screen and noted the two guards raising their guns and preparing to kick it open.

"Warrington's on the radio," Harding pointed out, "Give it a listen."

Gandalf did as ordered, and his eyes widened when he heard Wormtongue's panicked call for reinforcements and the reply of the person from the other end.

"He called for reinforcements," the wizard announced, "Some vans are coming in five minutes. A pair of helicopters in two. He might have been expecting us."

" " "

"That man really is like a slithering worm," Eowyn murmured, watching the screen as first Grima tried to untie the ropes about Legolas and drag him along, but then they were apparently done too tightly and he quit, vanishing into a back door. The two guards he left were making a heroic effort of defending the hall entrance against Gandalf and company as he sneaked away.

Her heart pounded all the more at the sound of the helicopters nearing the building, and Gandalf and co. still trying to break through the defense to get to Legolas.

"They won't make it out in time," she said flatly.

"What?!" Ana exclaimed.

"They're going to need some help," Eowyn murmured, wondering just how much help they would be if they tried to get up there.

_Not much_, she had to admit. Three helicopters, holding maybe ten men each, all armed to the teeth, fresh and ready, mercenaries willing to kill…

"Call the cops!" Brad exclaimed, "The invasion in the house, remember? The cops came and they all went away! They don't want to get caught, the whole enterprise is going to come down."

"Cops can't just storm some wealthy, well-connected guy's property," Hardwick pointed out, "They're going to need more than us calling them. Their hands are tied, we've been over this and--"

A pounding on the glass made them jump, and they were relieved to find a breathless Anatalia Craxi urging them to let her in the car. Eowyn scooted over and let her in, and she slid into the seat.

"You have live footage from inside?" she asked Goran urgently.

"Yes," Goran replied.

"And you have the footage of Warrington questioning Legolas?"

"Yes," the hacker replied, "What about it?"  
Anatalia looked over her head as the helicopters flew over them and circled the Fortress building, about to land. She hurriedly grabbed her cellphone and called her father.

" " "

Adrian broke through the door first. When the two guards were finally downed, he fell to a knee beside Leland and took the elf's face in his hands. He was flushed with a fever, and his glazed eyes were wandering.

"Look at me," Adrian urged him, "Greene." Hesitantly, he called the detective, for the very first time, "Legolas."

"Aragorn," the elf said slowly, the doctor finally catching his attention and he tried to regain his bearings. His voice shook wearily, and the doctor was worried.

"What are you on?" Adrian asked, glancing up at the I.V.

"Truth Serum," the elf replied, adding uselessly, "It makes me tell the truth."

No such thing existed, Adrian thought instinctively; some myths, yes. Some disarming, inhibition-decreasing drugs and alcohol, yes. But nothing like the _real_ thing. Then again, their foe did once work in bioengineering. Then again he, a decent, normal guy who did a normal thing for a living, did just break into a secure facility. _Anything's possible_, Adrian decided, not the mention the fact that he was talking to an elf and really, if they had one of _those_ in the world, a lot of things likely existed that he did not know about.

Adrian rose to his feet, and his position was taken over by Elladan and Elrohir, who worked on the ropes as they spoke to their old friend.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?" Elladan asked him gently.

"Yes," Legolas replied to his dismay, and to the twins' surprise.

"Cursed thing really does work," Elrohir breathed, "It got the Mirkwood prince admitting weakness."

"_Injury_," Legolas drawled at him, "Not weakness."

"No," chuckled Elladan, "_never_ that, _mellon-nin_."

Adrian grabbed a ball of cotton from one of the cabinets and some medical tape. He gently pulled at the tube wired to the elf's forearm and placed the cotton and tape over the seemingly insignificant needle puncture. Legolas watched him work, rather amused and touched by the ridiculously anal attention to trivialities. Adrian caught his stare and he smiled uncertainly.

"Force of habit," the doctor said quickly, "I think it calms me down." He knelt back beside the elf, and the others of the group hovered over them in worry and anxiety.

"They've landed on the roof," he heard Goran inform them over the comm., "They're taking the elevator down to your floor. They're waiting on it. It's coming up from the basement. Harding and Brad ran over there. They're gonna try to hold the elevators. But they'll get the hint and soon take the stairs."

"Grima's on one helicopter already," Eowyn reported, "He's escaping."

"We have to move," Elrohir said to Adrian quietly, as the doctor pressed a hand to Legolas' neck and found the pulse racing beneath his fingers. His brows furrowed in dismay. The elf's heart was pounding, but his body was lethargic in contrast. It's as if he was bursting out of his skin…

"If there's an antidote here," Adrian said determinedly, "We're going to need it."

"If we stay longer," Emmett pointed out, "We're all dead."

Adrian bit his lip in thought. He took a deep breath and made a tough decision. "Emmett, bring that. We'll figure something out," he said, pointing to the bag that held the Truth Serum. Elladan noted, impressed, that the _adan_ instinctively left the hands of the warriors free— that is, himself, Faramir and Elrohir. They wordlessly coordinated the role of protector, one of them holding the front of the line and two others holding the back, as Gandalf and Adrian pulled the Mirkwood elf to his feet.

The group ran to the stairwell and practically flew down it to the ground floor.

" " "

Craxi Multimedia held several channels, one of which was a cable news network. Anatalia headed Publishing, and her father hired a cousin to run the television networks. But the formidable Marcelo Craxi still had his say over every Craxi enterprise, and when his daughter called him with the a controversial piece and a live exclusive, all the Craxi channels and radio stations cut regular programming for some breaking news.

The pleasantly beautiful but stern-looking young anchorwoman was so cool and calm as she delivered her report, as if she did not get the story but moments ago:

_ "Breaking news. The __Rome__ Laboratories of Fortress Defense Systems International has been caught in a lockout for the past few weeks over labor issues. Tonight, we bring you live footage from inside the building, from their own security cameras, provided by our insiders, that Grissom Warrington, Vice President of Fortress Defense, is holding one of the Union leaders hostage and apparently, forcing him into a settlement…"_

They ran the tape that showed Legolas bound and drugged and Grissom Warrington circling him. They blurred his face, but the message was already clearly made: a Union leader, captured! The outrage!

" " "

"Union leader?" Brad asked Ana wryly, shutting off the radio version of the program.

"I couldn't think of anything else," Ana said nervously.

"I hope your network exercises more truthfulness in its other news programming," Eowyn said wryly.

"Someone would have heard that," Harding said with approval, "Either the cops come, or the labor unions come, or the media. Well done, Miss Craxi."

She took a deep breath, and glanced at the screens as the rest of the team raced down the stairwell, the enemies hot at their heels.

"I'm going to get the other car ready," she announced, stepping out of the vehicle and heading towards her own. She looked forward to when Elladan slips inside her car and closes that door… she's going to floor the gas and just _spirit_ him away and safe with her.

" " "

The reinforcement vans of the mercenaries likely got rerouted when the stream of police cars crowded the narrow streets. They might have also been called off and discouraged by their bosses. Too risky for the enterprise.

As they had before, in fear of capture, the mercenaries abandoned the chase, gathered their dead and wounded and seemingly vanished once again off the face of the Earth.

Adrian, Legolas, Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir, Emmett and Faramir piled into the cars and drove off the property, just as the angry labor crowds, the cops and the media began to arrive.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Massive thanks for the reviews. I hope chapter 24 turned out okay, I sure had fun writing it. It is, as promised, a bit long, ain't it? with that in mind, I'll begin pacing my posts from now on so I can work on the other chapters of this fic. Keep the reviews coming if you can, but I just hope that all who read it have as much fun as I did writing it. thanks for your time… I know life can be really pressing and you've been very generous. So, until the next post!!! :)


	25. Preparing for a Race

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

25: Preparing for a Race

* * *

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

* * *

In Italy, they had the pick of the best homes for a retreat; Eowyn had an estate, Emmett had an estate, Ana had an estate and if they even wished it, Marcelo Craxi too (although Elladan did not find the jaunty suggestion at all funny).

Emmett's was nearest, for he loved his work and relished being near it. But since Wormtongue might retaliate at them from there and from Eowyn's property, they headed for Anatalia's home in the country instead, even if it was a bit further.

Legolas rode with Adrian, Gandalf, Elrohir, Elladan and Anatalia. Behind them trailed Brad, Faramir, Emmett, Eowyn, Faramir, Goran and Harding for a snugger ride.

"Hey Legolas, you're really pressed to tell the truth, huh?" Elrohir asked the weary elf who sat—nay, _sagged_-- between him and Adrian. He sounded careless, but the Mirkwood elf's eyes were closed and he was worried for his old friend more than he wanted to admit.

"Yes," replied the prince of Mirkwood, opening his eyes.

"Who'd you always like better?" Elrohir teased, "Me or Elladan?"

The elf opened his mouth to answer and Adrian pressed a hand over his lips, glaring at the Rivendell elf. "No taking advantage!"

Elrohir chuckled, and no one in the car understood Legolas' muffled and helpless response.

"Don't laugh," the wizard commanded, "It makes the ride more uncomfortable." Indeed; the fit was so tight any laughter from one end was sending waves to the other end of the car.

"It's a sports car!" Ana retorted indignantly, "What it lacks in size it makes up for speed. Besides, it was never made with a big group in mind, eh?"

"So does that mean you and Elladan won't have very many children?" Legolas asked.

Her cheeks flushed, and the Rivendell elf on her passenger seat was met with the same miserable and wordless non-reply.

"Truth-Serum-ed Legolas is kind of cool," Elrohir commented, "Like he's drunk. Or it can be just an excuse to say and ask all the things you've been too cautious to say before."

"Don't make fun, Elrohir," Adrian scolded him, although he caught sight of the Rivendell elf's worry-clouded eyes and he cut off the tirade and simply gave the other an understanding nod.

"I do have something more to say," Legolas declared, closing his eyes again and struggling to gather his scattered thoughts and steady his world; maybe it was still the drugs, but then again the woman on the wheel also drove like a maniac.

"Wormtongue asked me where the ring was," Legolas said, his voice wavering with his fatigue, "He said if we're all here, then something like it must be too. But there's no ring, is there, Mithrandir?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," the wizard replied.

"But if Wormtongue anyway follows the story so faithfully," Legolas said, "He will know where to look for that ring or whatever its incarnation is now. The hobbits. He asked me where they were. He's going to try to find them. We have to find them first. We have to get to the hobbits."

Ana glanced at him from the rearview mirror. "The what?"  
Gandalf's eyes clouded with frustration. There might be a ring, there might not be a ring. There might be a new evil and there might not be a new evil. Is there really still a graver threat than Grissom Warrington? Or are they just trying to stop a man who feared repeating his past so greatly he unwittingly fell into evil anyway?

Evil or no, Grima Wormtongue is going to look for power where he believes it will be, especially now that his army and his assets have been wrenched from him. He will search for it and he will hunt for it almost desperately.

And so once again the rules of the game have changed. It was a race, now, rather than a duel.

"A race to find the hobbits," the wizard said softly.

* * *

Emmett was on his mobile phone with his broker, and he had a grin from ear-to-ear. Fortress Defense Systems stock was tanking, it was just being dumped left and right, given the scandal revealed in the Craxi channels. Ordinarily, this is supposed to be a miserable, life-changing and life-destroying circumstance. But not for Emmett. At the low price of the stocks, he could afford to buy controlling shares with his personal money. The accounts who dumped the Fortress stocks also inadvertently revealed who was trying to buy them out: Altman Industries, who are now claiming they are just victims too, since Warrington was blackmailing them, threatening to spill some of their trade secrets (which actually meant 'illegal practices'). This resulted in several fantastic effects: first, they can sue Altman for illegal trading and insider information, since their blackmail claim is yet to be proven. The victory was also made sweeter because Altman lost money in the acquisition of the Fortress stocks at a premium and selling them at a great discount. Altman stock was also plunging because of the scandal and money losses, and likely Emmett will acquire these too. Lastly, he's finally regained control of his family's company, and that all was finally well between him and his uncle.

"We're losing money now," Emmett said confidently, "But once the public gets wind that the Fortress scandal was broken to the media partly by me and Eunice, we'll be back on top."

Especially since he promised the Craxi channels exclusive interviews to tell of how he, along with Interpol, managed to break the scandal. The news and all its exclusives was also sending the Craxi channels soaring to the top of the ratings. Marcelo Craxi would want to _adopt_ Elladan when he discovers his perspective son-in-law had a hand in his great success.

There was also an international manhunt for Grissom Warrington, who is being accused of assault and kidnapping and likely murder too, when the cops did not find the 'Union Leader' in the premises.

Leland Greene was actually very lavishly outfitted in one of the villa's opulent guest rooms, leaning against a mountain of pillows and lying beneath crisp white sheets. It was early morning, but the shades were set over the windows and the yellow lamp lights were set low, encouraging relaxation. But for all these trappings, his glazed eyes roved about the room restlessly, his much-needed respite into sleep remaining a determined fugitive.

Adrian Aarons was with him, frowning with worry. The elf was in bed but could not sleep despite hours of effort, even as his fever-ravaged body obviously cried out for the rest. His mind was wide awake, he said, and it just kept jumping and jumping…

When Emmett Rigare closed down Fortress Defense Systems operations for the day in light of the scandal, he asked his Uncle to loan the technicians Brad and Fred the use of one of the expansive laboratories and a staff to test Warrington's Truth Serum and find some sort of a cure. Anatalia was busy coordinating with her own family business and around the house, preparing meals and towels and fresh clothes for her multitude of guests. Eowyn was with her and the displeased but rather forced Elladan was drafted in this service too.

The Rivendell elf, Adrian confided to Legolas in an effort to amuse him, was a disaster in the kitchen. Elrohir, Goran and Gandalf, in the meantime, busied themselves with the internet and other sources in ardent search of the hobbits. Harding was on the phone, and had a hell of a report to tell his captain.

And so Adrian was left with the elf he wasn't sure what to do with, the elf who kept calling him by the name that was not his own, and yet the elf undoubtedly thought to be true.

"Aragorn," Legolas said, "Did I really just see Gimli? I think I saw Gimli."

Adrian's eyes narrowed in thought. "You mean Jimmy. The hacker."

"Oh," Legolas said after a moment of thought, "He used to be someone else. He used to be short! You used to be someone else. But you were never short. Everybody used to be somebody else. Except for me, because I've always been me."

The doctor set his jaws, and grabbed a towel and an ice pack from the bedside table, putting it over the elf's forehead.

"You're not making much sense," Adrian told him gently, "How much did they give you?"

The elf frowned in thought. "I don't know."

"A lot?" Adrian asked.

"I think so," the elf sighed, closing his eyes, "There's so many questions and so many answers and things just keep popping into my head. I'm so tired…"

"I know," Adrian said, "I want to give you something, but I'm not sure how it will react with what's in you. We have to know what it is first. I can't even give you an antipyretic yet."

"A what?" the elf mumbled.

The doctor smiled. "You know when you get a fever? It's what you take to keep it in control."

"Elves don't get sick," Legolas pointed out, "So likely I really don't know about it."

"So I guess Aragorn's never done this for you before then?" Adrian asked, "Even if he was a healer?"

"You've done this for me before," Legolas replied, "Just not because I was sick. I must have gotten shot. Or hacked at. I forget. I'm not sure which I prefer, bullets or arrows or knives. Not drugs, though. For certain."

"Did Aragorn ever get hurt?" Adrian asked.

"You got hurt once in awhile," Legolas replied, "You always get in trouble when I don't watch. We were good friends once. I'd have given my life for you, I still would. But you didn't die that way. You simply… slept."

"I didn't die at all," Adrian said stoically, becoming rather angered and bothered by the elf's insistence of saying he was Aragorn, even as he tried to reign in his temper and tell himself that right or wrong, the elf was merely thinking these things and helplessly expressing them because of the drugs. He wanted to calm down because he knew the elf was ill, but he was becoming more uncomfortable.

"I'm here," Adrian said, "I didn't die."

"You did," Legolas said quietly, sadly, "I watched."

Adrian took a deep, shaky breath and frowned. "You truly think he is me?"

"Yes," the elf answered.

"And how badly do you want me to be him?" Adrian asked.

"Very," Legolas said, "But I already know you're one."

"What if you're wrong" Adrian pointed out.

"I can see you," Legolas insisted, "I know so well. But why can you not remember? Faramir remembered Eowyn. Grima remembered in the U.K., didn't he, because all things changed for him since then. But you… things are changing and you know it, it will not suffer defiance…" his voice trailed off, he knew he wasn't making much sense, but these things, these _pains_ begged telling too, "We were like brothers, you and I. I'd have given my life for you, I still would. Yet you cannot remember me."

"I cannot answer that," Adrian said quietly, "Leland… _Legolas_. Who am I to you, apart from all the things you think you can reclaim? Do you not think, that gaining this one attribute, this… this character that I cannot even imagine, results in the loss of another? I am not some empty shell to be filled. I am… who I am."

The elf opened his mouth and Adrian realized that, _God, he's really going to answer_. 

He pressed a hand to the elf's mouth. "I don't want to hear it."

"Then why did you ask," the elf chuckled wearily.

"Because it needs asking," the doctor replied, leaning back on his chair. He sighed. "So the way I understand it, we're looking for a bunch of… small guys."

"That's not very politically correct at all," Legolas scolded, "We're looking for hobbits. Or maybe, nowadays, 'little people.' But I don't think we should be too limiting… I mean look at Gimli. He was a dwarf. And now I think Gimli's taller than me. Gimli's taller than me," he said again, as if it suddenly just dawned on him, "We'd better keep those memories away after all, because I'll never hear the end of that…"

"I didn't know the hacker was supposed to be another reincarnation," Adrian said.

"The big hacker used to be a dwarf," Legolas sighed, "And the three of us, we used to be the three hunters. And now…" he shook his head in dismay, quaking hands lifting up to rub at his eyes in fatigue and confusion, "I'm just talking. It makes me lonely. He doesn't know me. You don't remember me. I know everybody and I remember everything. Everything's changed. People come and go, and I stay. I understand that. Besides, you know, one can only live in Arda for so long despising change. I did, for a time, yes. Sometimes I still do, but it gets tedious. And I'm very tired."

"I know," Adrian said, although in truth, he really didn't.

"You're lying," the elf said casually, and the _adan_ just smirked and didn't bother to deny it.

"I should have known I'd find Aragorn as a doctor," Legolas murmured, "He was always very good at it."

Adrian stared at the elf in consternation. "Can't you even say my name here and now, when the things from your mouth are at their most true? And most disarmed? I'm _Adrian_."

And then his cellphone rang, and the doctor narrowed his eyes in irritation, until he looked at the screen and realized it was Brad.

"I have to get this," he said to the elf, rising to his feet and making for the door. He spotted Elladan just heading down the hall toward them, bearing a tray of food.

"He's still awake," Adrian informed the Rivendell elf, "He's going to need that, though he may not want it. Try and convince him."

"Is that Brad?" Elladan asked, nodding at the ringing phone.

"Yes," Adrian replied, "Let's hope its good news."

* * *

It was.

The Serum was not made to kill, and though undoubtedly the elf overdosed on the stuff, it was an overdose more on the human sense, and he was naturally gifted with the bodily means to battle it.

"The rationale is actually kind of simple," Brad said over the phone, "I'm surprised no one's thought to just develop the concept 'til now. It's a mix of several things, actually. You know how fevers make you delirious? Usually, fevers are regarded more as symptomatic than as actual diseases. But this drug strips the body of its capacity to regulate its temperature, creating disruption in the brain. So weaken the brain and the rest of the body physically, make it susceptible to the even more disarming elements of the drug-- which has the same function as alcohol and club drugs when they stimulate thought and diminish behavior regulation, making the drinker or the drugged more impulsive. Hence, the overrated term of Truth Serum."

"But alcohol is generally a depressant," Adrian pointed out, "And club drugs are stimulants."

"You did say his mind was wide awake and he's tachycardic," Brad pointed out, "Even as his responses are slower. A mix, if you will."

Adrian chewed at the inside of his mouth in thought. "So like fevers, drugs and alcohol, we can just ride this out. I don't want any other new substance in him, lest we confuse his body all the more. Do you concur?"

"Yes," Brad replied, "Just keep him hydrated and well-rested. He'll be Spider-man again in no time."

"Good," Adrian nodded, "Thanks, Brad. I'll see you in the house, all right? Be careful."

"You're sounding as paranoid as they are," Brad said wryly.

Adrian frowned. "Well the things we've seen…"

"I know, I know," Brad sighed, "Hell, do I know. It feels like… like… this weird joke that everyone knows something about but you. You know they're hiding something, they know you know, and you just ride with it and wait for someone to break. And then it's irritating because the punch line is taking too long and it's not funny anymore by the time you hear about it."

Adrian's brows furrowed. "You think there is something no one is telling you?"

"I know it," Brad replied, "I mean, in Messina my brother woke me up and he was just so happy I was alive. And everyone leaves me out of the really tight spots, like I search high and low for a damn candlestick and I find everyone's left. Or I'm stuck to escape car duty. They're all treating me like I'd break, even you. Don't think I'm not grateful, man, but I remember. I fought and I fell and then there you were, like you knew I would. It's just crazy. What the hell do you people know?"

* * *

_Adrian__," Leland breathed, "Brad…"_

_"He's all right," __Adrian__ assured the elf, "He's still standing."_

_"I'll clear the way," Leland told him determinedly, "I'll watch your back. But you have to go to him."_

_"You're the one who's hurt," __Adrian__ pointed out, "You need back-up more."_

_"You've seen my genes, it's nothing," Leland said through gritted teeth as he downed another enemy, "Do not let Brad stand alone."_

_"And you?" __Adrian__ asked._

_"Nothing's going to happen," Leland insisted, "I know how the story ends, remember? I know how it all unfolds. Go to him. Do not let him stand alone."_

_Adrian__'s brows furrowed. _

_"I know how the story ends," Leland said more fiercely, "__Adrian__, go to him."_

* * *

"Legolas said to me," Adrian replied cautiously, "I should not let you stand alone, because he knows how the story ends."

Brad paused in thought. "Did he say this about anybody else?"  
"I do not think so," Adrian admitted.

"I'm going to die," Brad said flatly.

"Things are different," Adrian argued, "You're not who they think you are. I'm not who they think I am. Or we don't have to be. Either way, that means the story's changed."

"I don't know anymore, man," Brad sighed wearily, "I look at you now, and you're somebody else sometimes. Maybe… I don't know. Nevermind, you know, whatever. If it's your time to go, it's your time to go, right?"

"No one's dying," Adrian said with resolve.

"Maybe it's all right," Brad said pensively, "You know, if the old story pushes through. Because that means we'll win. And I'm the only one who'll end up dead. It's not so bad."

Adrian did not quite know what to say to that; what a strange, strange source of hope, and a stranger arising conflict. They can count on the old story to strengthen their hearts with the knowledge of a victory that was only lying in wait, even at the loss of a much-beloved friend. Or they can hope that the story's changed and in that case, either Brad stays alive or more die…

_Or maybe we can have all that we want_, Adrian thought determinedly, _Victory, and each other_.

But he had to be best equipped first.

_If I am Aragorn_, he thought to himself, _Then let him wake, let him rise, and he had better show me he's worth his legend. And that he's worth all the love of his friends_.

He ended the call and strode back to Legolas' room.

His heart nearly stopped at the sight of the elf's still body staring emptily up at the ceiling.

"Oh for God's sake!" he exclaimed, pushing Elladan aside and making toward Legolas. "Why didn't you call me—"

"Shh," Elladan said soothingly, pulling the _adan_ away from the Mirkwood elf. He had a bit of a smile on his face. "He's not dead."

Adrian struggled with the Rivendell elf's grip, "Look at him!"  
"Shh!" Elladan said again, "You'll wake him. He's tired, he fell asleep at last. I'm sorry, I should have told you. Our kin sleep with our eyes open."

Adrian stared at the elf for a long moment, watching his chest rise and fall, and watching again just to assure himself the first was not a fluke. And then watching again to make sure that last one wasn't either. He felt Elladan's grip on him loosen as he relaxed.

"Well," Adrian breathed, "That's kind of weird."  
"Ana found out about it the hard way too," Elladan said with a laugh, before he realized the implications of what he said and Adrian barely caught a glimpse of his flushed cheeks before he turned his face away. Adrian stifled a laugh, and simply bit his tongue.

For awhile, elf and man stood in the room in silence, and Adrian realized he's not had a moment alone with the elf who had once been Aragorn's brother.

"He's all right?" Elladan asked, rather uselessly, since he was already well-aware of the answer.

"Yes," Adrian replied, "How's everybody else doing?"  
"Scrapes and bruises," Elladan answered, "Nothing serious. It's a miracle. Life can really surprise you sometimes."

"I…" Adrian smiled a bit at the jab, "I think I may have learned this the hard way too."

"Oh, aren't you clever," Elladan said dryly.

"But seriously," Adrian said after a moment of thought, "Eh?"

"Yes," Elladan replied, "I suppose so."

Adrian bit his lip in contemplation, skirting around that which he truly wanted to ask. "He seems… Legolas, I mean. He seems so sure about me."

"Aye," Elladan agreed, "That he is. Stubborn, isn't he? He will not let up. He was made this way, I suppose."

"And you?" Adrian asked.

Elladan's brows rose, and he frowned in thought. "It shouldn't matter. I believe in second chances, lives anew. It gives you the opportunity to be who you wish to be."

"But look at us all," Adrian pointed out, "Back here in this damned same spot. How can things be different? How can I?"  
"I'm afraid I do not know the answers, brother," Elladan replied, "Perhaps there are none. But I cannot believe that we do not have the choice. Our lives are our own. That face and that body is _yours_, to do with as you will. I miss Estel but I've long known, and I've long understood that his fate is his and mine is mine. They diverge. It hurts, but then again it is how it is. Now I cannot believe I am saying this, but I am far less lonely than Legolas, and this is perhaps why I can understand this more easily-- Elrohir is with me and I beg you keep this between us, but he always will be and I am glad for that. Deep inside, I'm sure the Mirkwood elf knows that life is just as it is, and you are… Adrian, or Aragorn, or whoever it is you decide to be… You are just as you are. But you should not worry to lose the blasted Mirkwood elf's considerable heart. Because he is just as he is too, and I guarantee you he loves fiercely. Think not of him, or us your brothers, or those who knew Estel of long ago. You have nothing to fear from us, and we should not be asking anything of you than just what you wish to give. Once again, that face and that body are yours, eh? To do with it as you will. But that's the question, isn't it? What do you want?"

"I want…" Adrian's mind raced, "I want to do the right thing."

"You sound… like Aragorn," Elladan could not help but say.

"Do you think we are one?" Adrian asked, "In the greatest honesty."

"I've come across many of Aragorn's descendants," replied Elrohir cautiously, "And you do indeed seem most like him."

"But why can I not recall?" Adrian asked, "Fred remembered at the touch of one whom he loved. Even that blasted Wormtongue remembered. I cannot believe I would not recall my brothers, my dearest friends…"  
"I've been contemplating this myself," admitted Elladan, "And I believe I have some measure of an answer. There are some constants in life, things you get so used to, that are always available to you that you do not think about them. Friends, perhaps. Love, family. Food, even. Not to say you take them for granted, just that they've always been there, yes?"

"Yes," Adrian replied, not quite certain where this was going.

"Let me tell you something about Faramir of Gondor," said Elladan, "Or Fred, if you should insist. He knew not much love in life. He knew duty, and brotherhood, and responsibility. Very little of love. A brother, yes, but one that was lost only too early. Constants, remember? And then he meets Eowyn, and she opens for him a wondrous world, and he could love and be loved more than he thought possible. A sudden change, a twist, an epiphany, an awakening, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess I would," Adrian said.

"And then let me tell you about Grima Wormtongue," continued Elladan, "He's known servitude all his miserable life. It was rife with impotent ambition, desperate betrayal, ultimate rejection. And then he awakens to himself and kills his own master. Once again, constants, and awakening. Any life is filled with this. See: Fred goes to Messina and touches one who had awakened him from an old life long ago, and once again he receives an epiphany. As for Wormtongue, I can only guess. Remember Emmett said he changed after a discovery in the U.K.? Roundabout there is where he killed his master long ago, and where he himself was killed. An awakening in the past, parallel to an awakening now."

"What about me?" Adrian asked, "And Brad? And Emmett? Even the hacker?"

"I have to think about the others," said Elladan, "But you… you've always had love and friendship in your life. Family, brothers, laughter, mischief… These are your constants. But there was one great awakening for you in the past. Then as now, we all knew who you were even if you did not know it yourself. You were born a king, born to lead, and born to serve. You woke to a duty destined. And a victory only yours to take, if you chose to. As now, if you choose to."

"I choose," Adrian said fervently, "We need it."

"Well I can think of only one thing that symbolizes this best," Elladan said wistfully.

* * *

_"Is there anything at all that you remember?" Legolas asked him quietly._

_"I'm new here," __Adrian__ said with an apologetic smile, "I'm sure whoever it is you think I am, I'm not it. Maybe I'm just like, the default guy. I mean, everyone else is dead…"_

_"Maybe you're just being stubborn," Legolas insisted, "If you open yourself up to the possibilities, mayhap dreams would come to you, distant memories. Such that when you walk here, when you touch things, you know you've been around once before. I have an idea. Something that once was truly and absolutely yours lies in rest here in the house. Perhaps you and I, we can go--"_

* * *

"The first day I was in Imladris," Adrian shared, "Legolas wanted to show me something. He said it was something that was truly and absolutely mine."

Elladan smiled. "He and I speak of the same thing, I believe. _Anduril_."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Thanks for the c&c's and for your time and patience. I am presently working on chapter 28 after a very lengthy chapter 27. please keep the reviews coming if you can and I want y'all to know I'm fervently working. So for a bit of a teaser on the next chapters…

starlit jewel's instincts are going pretty well, or we're just on the same wavelength. More headaches to come for our Mirkwood elf when his partner sees him on TV indeed :) Watch out also for Harding discovering his place in the new quest, and Adrian summons Aragorn back.

i'm being a bit slow and i'm real sorry but i swear i'm working. i'll finish the fic in good time. i'm also a bit interested in venturing into other fandoms after this fic. "King Arthur" is rattling the frustrated historian in me so i'll likely be working on that after this LOTR fic. I won't leave forever, it's just a route i'm curious to take. besides, i think the reason why that movie appeals to me is that it has similarities with LOTR. anyway, there, just some thoughts. thanks for your time :)

'til the next post!!! :)


	26. Fallen Into

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

26: Fallen Into

" " "

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

" " "

"Hey," Elrohir greeted Elladan at the kitchen counter, where he was partaking of Eowyn and Anatalia's brunch. "You think I should call our broker? Fortress and Altman stock are tanking like Isengard in water. Emmett promises he'll get it back on track. So we get it cheap and win in the end."

"We're wealthy enough," Elladan said wryly, "I don't want to get mixed up in it. Complicated."

"How's Legolas?" Eowyn inquired.

"Oh he's fine," Elladan replied, "We've all seen worse. Shouldn't expect him on his feet for a bit though… infamous stubbornness notwithstanding. How's the search going?"

"We're still ending up with nothing," answered Elrohir. "I'm hoping all the media hoopla will paralyze Wormtongue and his lackeys for awhile. Everything's unfolding nicely. Altman finally fessed up and said what Warrington's been blackmailing him about because it's for a lesser charge and liability than insider trading. It's some extralegal research on embryonic stem cells; more ethical problems than legal. Anyway, too bad for him, it's too late. Poor bastard. He really should have been more careful. Well. Either way… we have some time yet."

"So we have no names, no pictures, no nothing?" asked Elladan.

"Well it's going to take time," said Elrohir, "Remember we all kind of just stumbled into one another. All we have now are hobbit initials, and photographs from our memories. It's a big world."

"I thought we'd limit ourselves to the U.K. at least," Elladan said, and Eomer frowned at him, before his eyes lit up in understanding.

"Oh for the Valar's sake," the twin exclaimed, "we've been looking so hard our brains have turned inside-out. Of course! That would be around where the Shire had shifted. You're clever!"  
"I know," Elladan said wryly, "I hadn't thought about it 'til just now, when I remembered that's where Grissom Warrington may have reclaimed the memories of Grima Wormtongue."

"I'll get to it right away," Elrohir said, putting one last bit of food into his mouth, "Thank you, good fare," he said to Eowyn and Anatalia quickly before vanishing off. He hurried away just as Adrian came down the stairs bearing his packed clothes.

"Where are you going?" Emmett asked him.

"Imladris," he replied, glancing at Elladan, who was smirking up at him proudly.

"I'll go with you," Elladan offered.

"I'll drive you to the airport," Ana offered, "I have to stay here awhile. I suppose you will meet us in the U.K.?"

"What's there?" Adrian asked.

"Hobbits," she replied with a shrug; she was still unsure of what those were.

"What's in Imladris?" Eowyn inquired.

"Aragorn," Adrian replied wistfully, "We're pressed for time," _and heroes_, Adrian reflected, "and it's going to be awhile before Legolas gets to his feet. We're going to need… we're going to need more than me."

She looked at him disapprovingly, and stepped toward him with an embrace, saying softly, "Do not sell yourself short."

He smiled at her. "I will see you soon."

" " "

A cellphone was ringing.

Harding did not recognize the sound as his own, and therefore he simply coolly looked to the other occupants of the living room. He was surprised to find them staring at him expectantly, and he remembered that he was the one who kept Leland Greene's mobile.

Frowning, he weighed his options and decided not to draw it out just yet. He murmured his excuses and he rose to his feet, walking away from the living room where the strange batch of characters he had somehow fallen in with was crowded.

He strolled to an empty study and closed the door behind him. His companions did not seem surprised by the secrecy; they likely expected it to be Interpol business. The truth was, he was beginning to get the feeling he was getting in way over his head; they knew more of him than he did of them, and they were not making the time to tell him any more. First, it was because they were in a rush to retrieve Greene. And now, everyone was muttering something about beating Grissom Warrington to a bunch of… of… _hobbits_. He really had to get himself, and this demented little story together.

So far, he was sure of a few things. Indisputably, Grissom Warrington was guilty of blackmailing Zander Altman, industrial espionage versus Fortress Defense Systems International, insider trading, and a rather strange attempt of owning bioengineering and military weapons companies. He was also behind a rather sizeable batch of assassinations (although this likely cannot be proven), the attempted killing of Adrian Aarons, assault on the Austrian estate and damage of property, and the kidnapping of Leland Greene. He was also unfortunately still at large, on a quest for some mythical ring of power, and hell-bent on finding a bunch off… of… _hobbits_ whom he believes has it in their safekeeping.

But that's just one guy. Then enters Emmett Rigare, who was informally booted from his uncle's company and basically belonged to a rag-tag team of folk who tasked a hacker to steal some information. Then enters two jobless twins who have so much money they can likely buy out half a continent with it. Bring in another socialite whose family owns one of the largest media companies in Europe. Bring in a detective in the LAPD…

They were all tied somehow, and between the little time he had in attempting inquiries along these last few days, he's only had one strange and persistent answer: Most of them were reincarnations of old friends who'd once fought a great evil. That is, save for the twins and Leland Greene who were immortal elves, the old man who was a wizard, and Anatalia Craxi who was new to it all.

He remembered the Fred fellow said it to him gravely. And then Brad the brother said it flippantly, saying he was still unsure but it's getting contagious. Adrian Aarons was more uncertain, though he too seemed to sway toward believing. Elladan said that they were once old friends, and that he, _Haldir_ was a brave soldier from a magical land called Lothlorien. Eunice Rigare said she knows his face from long ago, but that she now remembers it as a cold, unmoving corpse.

_Creepy_, he decided. But he was curious. Besides, there was something here that begged for knowing; he certainly cannot dispute what the group's been able to accomplish thus far.

Harding already reported to his immediate superiors that Grissom Warrington was the villain and they were more than pleased that the threat of a secret hoarder of bioengineering and military weapons has been pointed out. He's to receive a commendation and likely, a raise too. He decided to leave out all the other strange details, however, in case they deem him insane and discharge him instead.

The duty of Horace Harding, Interpol agent, was officially done. But he remained, curious to see where this story would take him.

The phone was still ringing persistently. The call was registered as coming from a man named Rafe Montes.

"Hello?" Harding answered.

"Greene?" came the reply.

"No," Harding said, "This is a colleague of his."

"A colleague?" the man from the other end retorted, "You lying son of a gun, who the hell is this? This is his partner, man, and I don't know you. Where's Greene? What have you done to him?"

Harding frowned. "Detective Montes?" he hazarded.

"Yeah," Montes retorted, "Who the hell is this?"  
"Agent Horace Harding, Interpol," Harding replied coolly, "Detective Greene is otherwise occupied."

"The hell he's occupied," hissed Montes, "You lying prick. Where the hell is he? It's all over the damn cable. Someone picked him up and tied him up and interrogated him somewhere and no one can find him. They blurred his face but I know that blasted shirt, my wife gave it to him last Christmas. My government got the original tapes, especially when a bunch of media tried to I.D. him and kept crowding the station. It really was Greene and everyone's going crazy here in the States. You're dead, you asshole, my department's onto you, my government's onto you and you're going to regret it when I meet you face to face. He'd better be alive. If something's happened to him—"

"Calm down, detective," Harding sighed, "I really am with Interpol. Look it up." He gave the man at the other end of the line a batch of codes and numbers. "He's fine. He's recovering."  
Montes was at a loss for words. "He's really--? You'd better… I'm gonna look this up."

He hung up, and Harding looked at the mobile thoughtfully. He pocketed it again, and decided that if any answer could be trusted right now, it would be the answer of the Truth Serum patient up the stairs.

" " "

Gandalf looked up from the book he was reading to find Horace Harding standing uncertainly by the door of Legolas' room. The wizard smiled at the new arrival invitingly, and the agent stepped toward them with caution.

"They warned me downstairs," Harding said quietly, "That his kind really does sleep with open eyes. It looks…" his voice trailed off. "I don't know what in the world they mean when they say that. 'His kind.'"

"You were once this way too," Gandalf said, sharing the same lowered tone.

"You would forgive me," Harding said wryly, "for not buying into any of this crap."

"I expected as much," Gandalf said easily, "It is not easy to believe." Gandalf closed the book and laid it on the nightstand. He rose from his seat by Legolas' bed and headed toward the door.

"I wondered," said the old man thoughtfully, pausing by the frame, "I wondered how long it would take you to decide to take advantage of his rather… honest predisposition."

"I don't mean to be invasive," Harding pointed out, "It's… it's part of my job, to want to find out…"

"I didn't mean it in the bad sense," Gandalf said gently, "Wake him. He needs to speak of these things too."

The old man/wizard left, and Harding looked upon the open-eyed sleeping 'elf' uncertainly. He cleared his throat, and called upon the detective. "Greene."

The 'elf' blinked several times, before breathing a long sigh and turning toward the voice who called to him.

"Haldir," he said.

"It's me," the Interpol agent winced, "Harding. I have to ask you a few things."

The 'elf' shifted, and pushed himself up to his quaking elbows. He was frowning, and was not very pleased with himself at all. But he needed to rise… there were things that needed doing. And besides, the fact that he still felt considerably ill assured him he was still going to be dreadfully honest and uncontrollably forthcoming, and he did not fancy the interrogations of a seasoned Interpol agent while flat on his back, especially since this agent came in the form of the even more formidable Haldir.

Legolas leaned against the head rest and leveled his eyes at Haldir's face. "The hobbits?"

"Whatever they are," Harding replied, "They've not been found."

This was making the elf a bit agitated, and he shifted again, his eyes turning to the door as if he was contemplating making a menace of himself in the ongoing search downstairs.

"They are taking care of it," Harding assured him, reading the telling expression on his face.

"I'm sure," Legolas murmured distractedly, "But I cannot just stay here and do nothing."

"You might want to settle a few things with me instead," Harding offered.

"Actually, I don't," Legolas said wryly, running a shaky hand over his weary face. But he looked intently upon the agent nonetheless.

"I've been hearing crazy things," Harding said, "But I cannot argue what you've all accomplished here. Perhaps there's some truth hidden in all this, somewhere."

"Truth is very relative," Legolas muttered, finding himself displeased that he was once again in this untenable position.

"Nevertheless," Harding insisted, "Tell me of it as you know it. Who are all you crazy people? What do I have to do with everything?"

Legolas stared at Harding for a long moment. The drugs were running out, he thought, for the answers were no longer too quick out his mouth. But they needed saying, he knew that well enough. He'd likely need to have a conversation like this with Brad as well, later.

_Well_, he sighed inwardly, _It__ was bound to happen._

" " "

Imladris,

Vienna, Austria

Mid-2004

" " "

Elladan left him in the room, and simply supposed that he would know where to go.

He thought the 'elf' was crazy, but the strange thing was, his eyes and his feet did indeed lead him to precisely where it was that he needed to go.

The sword was like an offering to him, shining, timeless _Anduril_… The word slid past his tongue like a dream, it was so familiar, it was so right. He ached to discover how that hilt fit in his hands, how it's cool surface will lend him calm, how that weight will lend him assurance. The word in his mouth felt missed and true, and he was yet to touch the thing yet.

His hands were shaking. He's come to a decision way back in Italy, how hard was it to reach over, and reclaim 'himself?'

_Who will I be_, he wondered with a tinge of sadness.

_Strange_, he reflected, as if he was mourning the loss of some part of himself. It was not altogether so much of a leap; he will not lose Adrian Aarons, not really. He was all of all that he ever was, all at once. But there was an innocence to the life he once led too, with far less weighty responsibilities, far less weighty _truths_…

But as he said. This decision's already been made. He was needed, and that was all that there was to it.

_Besides_, he thought wryly, _I've gone this far_… _And anyway, things will never be the same again_.

He took a deep breath and made a grab for the hilt of the sword, thinking perhaps if he did it suddenly, he'd not have to think too much of it…

It was indeed cool, and reassuring, and so irrepressibly _fit_. He was not quite sure what he expected—for the world to flip on its head, perhaps, perhaps for wild colors and an elevating feeling, perhaps, perhaps a sudden rush of memories that would drown him with their intensity…

He did not expect the empty silence that accompanied the raising of the sword. He waited a while, closing his eyes, willing and willing to take what it was that was meant to be his.

_Aragorn_, he invoked, _Awaken._

_ Claim me._

Reclaim_ me…_

_ Whatever suits your fancy_, he thought fervently, _As long as you are here._

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Thanks for reading and especially for the reviews. I'm up to chapter 29 right now and I've taken our jet-setting group to Sinop, Turkey, hahaha. I know what you're thinking—is it ever going to end? Haha (but I hope you don't really think that ;))

Chapter 27 brings Legolas closer to Jimmy Goran :) 'til then and review if you can; I understand that we're all pressed for time after all :) I hope you had fun!


	27. To Stay

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

27: To Stay

* * *

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

* * *

Legolas woke to the quiet, dimly-lit room, hazy not just with the strange early-morn hours but also because his eyes remained clouded in his weariness. But he was more alert, at least he liked to think, and it seemed his body was at last beginning to give the leeway his mind and heart have been desperately wanting. The job was not yet done, and his place therefore was planted on his feet, instead of flat on his back…

He surmised he must have fallen asleep somewhere between telling Haldir he died in a battle from long ago and just after the War of the Ring.

_How long was that_, he wondered, for his sleep-dulled senses could hardly tell up from down, much less how much time passed since.

He blinked in an attempt to clear his vision. The effort, although not particularly effective, was at least not futile, for the lines of the room became more distinct, and his other senses seemed to wake with them, such that he was finally made aware of the fellow who was roughly seated on the chair that stood next to his bed.

Seated, he reflected, was actually a bit of an exaggeration. The weary Boromir seemed… seemed… _flopped_ on the chair, like a puppet with strings suddenly cut, or a rag doll, or… or… a big spoonful of jelly that fell to the floor. The bulk of the warrior seemed to overwhelm the chair, but his face was calm in sleep, and the sight of him made Legolas smile a bit.

The elf was thirsty, and his body felt heavy and unfamiliar. It irked him that he had to be _stuck in here_… stuck in this body, stuck in this room, stuck in this situation… He felt a hot flush of irritation and impatience to couple the illness that had brought him here in the first place, and then the room seemed to shrink before him. It was too confining, too small, too stuffy…

_I have to get up_, he decided, before he lost his mind. One absolutely must know one has a problem if the lavish trappings of Anatalia Craxi's guest room seemed small and unappealing.

He glanced at Brad, and was just so greatly unwilling to stir him from a much-deserved and restful sleep. And so with minimum fuss and as little rustling of the sheets as he could manage, he sat up and swung his long legs up over the other side of the bed, away from Brad.

The world was… _wavering_, he decided, putting a hand to his head and closing his eyes a long moment, just finding relief in every recovered breath. He sighed inwardly, and slowly rose to his feet. Done in this manner, the change was not so sudden, and he recovered more quickly, dealing only with a bit of discomfort and a persistent but tolerable leadenness to his limbs, rather than nausea.

He gathered the crisp blankets he just freed himself from and smoothed them a little, running his hands across the sheets. And then gingerly, elvish hands as cautious and deft as possible considering the weakness that still plagued their master, he put it over the sleeping warrior, who stirred as if to wake with the slight disturbance until he settled back into sleep.

Legolas smiled again. _It is good that you are here, my friend_.

The elf surveyed a nearby closet and commandeered a robe, gingerly removing the wrinkled, unbuttoned polo he's had on since his capture. The designer shirt was ruined, a slash on his sleeve from when he was shot and from when Adrian Aarons cut through the material to bandage the minor wound. He remembered watching in disoriented dismay as the doctor irreverently tossed the scraps aside…

_Irritating_, he thought, and now that he remembered, he must have been disoriented enough to have murmured it aloud too, because in his mind's eye, he could see ghosts of a smiling Aragorn borrowing the doctor's face as he worked.

He set the shirt aside, uselessly folding it though he was certain it was beyond repair. He supposed he simply did not want to defile the pretty room with a mess.

He wore the robe over bare back and loose slacks, and winced and ran a hand over his unkempt hair. There was no excuse for a faulty experience. But he supposed the dismay was not as great as the thirst for some water.

He walked to the door, contemplating why he felt so sneaky, why he felt the need for such quiet. He supposed it was purely be reflex; he despised having to hear that he shouldn't be on his feet just yet, et cetera, etc cetera. Things needed doing, he didn't want the luxury.

He could hear the quiet hum of activity downstairs, in the living room. The hacker's fingers over a keyboard, a pause a triumphant guffaw, the wizard's approving grunts, some scraping chairs as seats were switched all around so others could get a view of the screen, some shuffling… They were indeed, as Haldir told him, busy with the work.

Legolas took the service stairs down to the expansive kitchen, looking for tea. He was settling an intricate old pot over the range when Jimmy Goran stepped into the kitchen and jumped at the sight of him.

Legolas offered him a hesitant smile, reflecting that Gimli's bulk on a height that was _just a bit!_ taller than his own made for a rather imposing sight indeed.

"You're awake," the hacker said flatly, and Legolas didn't quite understand why the 'dwarf' seemed so miffed about this until he noticed that the hacker seemed a bit agitated, and he was bearing his bag with him. He was also keeping a bit of a nervous glance at the back door.

Legolas eyes glistened with amusement, and Goran knew at once that he's been caught.

"You can't stop me," the hacker said quickly, "I'm pardoned. I can go wherever I want. And if you think otherwise, I can blow on you right now and you'll likely fall to the ground."

"I don't doubt it," Legolas said wryly.

"I can go," Goran said again, "I'm pardoned."

"Then why are you sneaking out, hm?" Legolas asked, enjoying the sight of a Gimli caught in a transparent lie. It was familiar, and endearing, and the reunion would have been ideal if not for the fact that now the 'dwarf' stood taller than him.

"Harding doesn't want me out of his sight until we get debriefed tomorrow morning," Goran replied, "He promised me a pardon, but his bosses will lock me up, I know it."

"Harding's an honorable man," Legolas assured him, "He'll stand by his word. I can guarantee it."

"Well I heard you're crazy," said Goran.

"From whom?" Legolas asked. In the other room filled with people who knew him, after all, it could have come from anybody.

"Brad," Goran replied, "And Harding. And the twins. Come to think of it, it seemed a bit of a given to everybody."  
"I'm not crazy," Legolas said to him with a bit of a smile, leaning on the counter heavily as he waited for the boil. "Did they tell you that you belong here, with us?"

_With me_?

"Yes," Goran replied, "the old man, he sure did. He sure seemed pleased to see me too. It's kind of weird. He's crazier than you."

Legolas chuckled, nodding his head, "So it would seem. So it would seem." He looked at the man wearing his old friend's face wistfully. Goran was ready to spring from the room, spring away from all of them.

"I found your hobbits," Goran said, "You might want to take a look."

"A diversion, eh?" Legolas asked.

"Well I don't feel good about tossing an invalid out on his ass just to get out of here," Goran snapped, "And I don't think you'd willingly get out of my way."

"Invalid?" Legolas said flatly, frowning. Oh the blasted dwarf may be taller but he sure hasn't lost the knowledge of all the wrong buttons to press.

Goran simply shrugged, catching the irritated gleam in the detective's eyes easily.

"Stay with us," Legolas implored him.

"I don't know," said the hacker wryly, "I have a feeling what you have is contagious."

"Isn't it?" Legolas asked impishly, "You will not regret this, I promise you."

"I heard," Goran murmured, "You have a tendency for keeping your promises. I suppose since they said you're crazy, and I can see very well that you are, this information must be reliable too."

"It must be," Legolas said mock-gravely, and turned his head toward the back stairs, his elven senses hearing the stomping steps of Brad before Goran did.

The angry lab technician looked to the elf with murder in his eyes. "You."

"Me," Legolas said, smiling helplessly, shrugging at him.

"You're not supposed to be here," Brad seethed, "I thought I misplaced you or something. Adrian called and told me to look after you."

"Called?" Legolas asked, narrowing his eyes in thought, "Where from? Is he not here?"

Brad opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by the arrival of another seething newcomer, this time, Horace Harding.

"You--" he said of Goran, sputtering, realizing he almost lost his charge.

The hacker put his bag over the counter, resigned to staying. He glanced at Legolas wryly, before tossing Harding a mischievous look and shrugging at him. "Me."

Elrohir came up behind Harding and glared at Legolas disapprovingly.

"You shouldn't be on your feet," he told the Mirkwood elf.

"I wanted some tea," Legolas replied a bit defiantly, hiding his embarrassment over the fuss.

"You're not well just yet," Elrohir retorted, "Aren't I right, Brad?"

"You found the hobbits?" Legolas asked, eager to change the subject.

"Yes but we can't contact any of them," Elrohir said, "Their cellphones are ringing but we keep getting messages. The address is U.K. though and when we traced the cellphones, we ended up with the same places—" he closed his eyes a moment in irritation and realization, "Legolas, you're trying to distract me."

The Mirkwood elf smiled a bit, did not bother to deny it.

"We've arranged our flight to England," Elrohir said a bit hesitantly, knowing his old friend would certainly want to go along.

"Is that where Estel is?" Legolas inquired.

"He's… he went back to Imladris," Elrohir answered, watching Legolas' face, "He wanted to go fetch Aragorn, eh?"

Legolas stared at the Rivendell elf a long moment, before the sound of the whistling kettle caught his attention and he turned away from Elrohir to work on the tea instead.

"I may have had something to do with that," he said quietly, pretending to be occupied with the tea.

"He made up his own mind," Elrohir said flippantly, "Always has."

"Just so," Legolas breathed, turning toward Elrohir once again, "Well? When are we leaving?"

"I was afraid you'd ask that," Elrohir winced, "_We're_ going in an hour. _You're_ staying here to get better."

"You know I won't let that happen," Legolas told him stonily.

Elrohir favored him with a long, measuring glance. Harding, Goran and Brad watched with uncertainty. In a flash of movement, the Rivendell elf made to strike at Legolas, hand taught with tension in a jab intended to stop a hair away from his friend's neck. The Mirkwood prince sidestepped it neatly, but he moved quicker than his body preferred and he wavered where he dodged. Elrohir steadied him with a grip to his arm, and Legolas favored him with a very royal glare.

'Stay that princely temper,' Elrohir said to him in their language, and in his serious eyes Legolas found no triumph at all, only grim determination. 'We can both admit my point has been successfully made whether or not you wish it. Legolas… you've stood in a distant shore long ago, and let people go where they must and do what they ought. You can do so again.'

Legolas' eyes softened. Ah, yes. He could not forget Parth Galen, one of those great moments in his life when he learned that sometimes, one needed to step away, that there was considerable strength and courage in letting go rather than holding on. He stared at Elrohir a long moment, before his gaze strayed to the quiet and expectant-looking Brad.

"I will willingly stay," said the elf, "If he and Harding stay with me."

Elrohir nodded his head slowly in understanding.

"Oh no," Brad said, laughing mirthlessly, "No. No. You're not doing this to me again. I don't have to stay if I don't want to, Greene."

"We're trying to keep you alive," Legolas pointed out.

"You're choking me to death," Brad retorted.

"I don't have a problem with staying," said Harding, "I have to attend a debriefing tomorrow morning anyway, the nearest Interpol outpost to me. Goran's staying too."

"I am?" asked the hacker.

"You know you are," Harding told him darkly.

"I'm not a damned fugitive, you pompous ass," Goran exclaimed, "I thought you said I was pardoned?"

"You are pardoned," said Harding, "But until I make my debriefing with you and my superiors tomorrow, I'm responsible for your safety and your good behavior."

"But they might lock me up," Goran pointed out.

"So you are going to try and run away," Harding said coolly.

"I didn't say that," Goran said, "I just don't want to go see your prissy bosses tomorrow."

"You're leaving me with them," Brad said flatly as he released an exasperated breath and looked at Harding and Goran with great and profound misery. Not only was he to be left out of an adventure. Not only was he agitating over the unknowns his brother and newfound weird friends were facing. Not only was he a single man in beautiful Europe who doesn't have the time for a vacation and a short-lived affair. He was stuck here with _these_ two.

"Yes," Elrohir said with an easy laugh, "Yes, we are."

"Kind of you," Brad sneered.

"So," Elrohir said, turning to Legolas, "You have what you want. Do I need to ask for your word that you would stay here, recover, not get into trouble, all that?"

"You need not ask for my word," Legolas told him evenly, "I will hold true to our bargain. You will not find me rushing to the U.K. after you."

_Unless I find the need_, he left unsaid. He needn't make them worry about a mere possibility after all…

"Good," said Elrohir wryly, trying to gauge the truth of the statement and all at once unwilling to question the other, especially when it came to speaking of such serious things as their honor.

"I won't be giving anybody _my_ word," Brad said stubbornly, "If I want to get out of here, I'll slip something in Greene's damned tea."  
"Yes, well," said Legolas wryly, "Go look for a candlestick."

"You're all acting like children," Elrohir said as he looked at the four men nervously. He, Gandalf, Eowyn, Faramir, Emmett, Anatalia, Elladan and Adrian were headed to England and leaving Legolas, Brad, Goran and Harding together. He sighed. It sounded like a recipe for disaster. He was suddenly very… uncertain.

* * *

The Mirkwood elf was looking uncharacteristically slumped on the intricate hardwood chair he pulled before the desk as he looked through the files of the four 'hobbits' Goran successfully found for them. The others left hours ago and he, Goran, Harding and Brad were therefore left with the company of each other in the living room.

"You're supposed to be resting," Brad said to the elf with a wince. Legolas glanced up at him for a moment, his drawn face serious, before looking through the files again.

"_I_ can use a nap," the hacker said, yawning and stretching his arms over his head, "I'll go find a room upstairs."

Harding glanced at the hacker coolly, lifting his face up from the broadsheet he was leisurely reading, long legs stretched out before him on the sofa.

"You're not going to get out of my sight," Harding guaranteed Goran, "You want a nap, you're napping here, on the sofa, across from me, where you can't go anywhere I can't see."

"I'm not going anywhere," Goran retorted, "I'm tired, and even if I did want to go somewhere else, it's no business of yours. I'm pardoned!"

"Nevertheless," Harding said, lifting the broadsheet over his face again as he turned his attention back to the news, "You're staying on that couch."

"Well I lost my taste for a nap," Goran snapped, "You got my blood boiling. I'm getting tea. You don't want me out of your sight, you'd damned better follow 'cos I'm not sticking around here."

The hacker rose to his feet and stalked for the kitchen. Harding frowned after him, then rose to his own feet and did as the hacker dared him to do.

Brad watched them leave miserably. "I'm so in the wrong place."

Legolas glanced up at him and smiled a little. "I beg to differ." He pulled away from the desk a moment, looked at Brad more closely. "You've spoken with Adrian since he left here?"

"Yes," Brad replied, "He was talking funny. Like my brother, that morning after he woke up and lost his mind."

"He called you Boromir," Legolas guessed.

"He did," Brad winced, "And like wacko Fred, he's also very happy that I'm alive. You guys scare me."

"You should be scared," Legolas said wistfully, "But you are safe now. You're here. Away from… everything."

Brad stared at him a long moment, weighing his words, weighing his desire to know all the things he's been wondering about. "The last time we were all in a situation like this, I died, didn't I?"

"Yes," Legolas replied, "I… I watched you. I watched Aragorn say goodbye. I was there."

"And the last time we were all in a situation like this," said Brad tentatively, "No one else died, right? And we won too."

"Haldir," Legolas said quietly, "Harding died too. But yes, we ultimately won."

"What if me being here," Brad asked, "What if it changes things? I don't mind dying, we're all headed that way. I mean not you," he paused, closed his eyes in confusion, attempted to gather his thoughts, "But you know what I mean. If we win, I don't mind. If I have to die for us to win, I don't mind."

"No one has to die," Legolas told him resolutely, "I look upon that day with constant regret. If I moved faster, if I did not tarry as long here or there, if I took this turn, this step instead of that… The world opens up to infinity, and I lose the ground beneath my feet. So many questions, so many possibilities, so many regrets and yet no second chances. Or so I thought. Now you are here, and I can at last… try for another way. Maybe we can all live, and we can all win, eh?"

Brad wrung his wrists nervously, still uncertain. But he quieted his questions for now, and tossed a nod at the computer screen. "So we're looking for them."

"Yes," Legolas replied, "Particularly, Finn Baggins. But I suspect if we find one, we'll find them all."

"Cool," Brad said, "Two birds with one stone. Or four birds, whatever."  
"But it makes it convenient for Wormtongue too," Legolas said with a wince, "And his cursed mercenaries. Remember, we discovered earlier that they have headquarters in the U.K. too. And we cannot contact the hobbits, for some reason. No answer on their mobiles, though the phones are stationary in their respective homes. This scares me. We have to be open to the possibility that we've been beaten to the finish line."

"Well it ain't over 'til it's over," Brad said, "We got you back, didn't we? And besides… I don't know. I'm feeling good about this. Adrian-- Aragorn, whatever-- he's got to have something up his sleeve."

"Yes," Legolas smiled in remembrance, "He always has, after all. You know I've always said that Estel was lucky he lived in our older times and not now because, well, he'd have likely been _institutionalized_ if you know what I mean. But I suppose he's back, and we shall see how these two wild worlds meet." Legolas' smile faded a little, his sick eyes dulled further as worry crept into them once again. "He truly sounded different?"

"Yes," Brad replied, "Doesn't that make you happy? That he's back?"

"I…" Legolas frowned, "I'm not sure. I hate the thought that I may have forced him into it. Maybe he's irked at me. He's not called."

"That's because you're supposed to be out like a light," Brad pointed out.

"Well anyway," Legolas sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes, "Aragorn's was a sadder life, you see. Perhaps some things ought be forgotten after all."

"Like my life?" Brad asked, "You never speak of it unless I inquire and no one's wanting _me_/Boromir/whatever back, aside from the fact that I'm a living, breathing body."

"You're too perceptive," Legolas murmured.

"You're trying to distract me," Brad said wryly.

"You've made mistakes, let's leave it at that," Legolas said, "But these were things you've undoubtedly made up for in a heroic magnitude, in ways that do not question your honor, or diminish your greatness. I do not speak of them because you wouldn't understand, unless you fully remember. Boromir was a good man, a great friend. He gave his life to protect those he loved. No greater feat could be spoken of." Legolas watched him carefully. "Do you wish to remember?"

Brad thought about it for a long moment. "I'm not sure. Harding doesn't seem to give a rat's ass. Or Emmett. I guess some guys can live with just what they are. I'm intrigued, though. I'm not sure. If it comes back, you know, that's all right. But my future's mine. That's cool too."

"A fine outlook," Legolas said with approval, "You win all around."

"Now we just have to make sure everyone else does so too," said Brad, turning his attention to the laptop screen, "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Something someone may have missed," Legolas replied, running a hand over his tired eyes again. His head was pounding. "I doubt it though. I suppose I'm deathly nervous. I cannot stand to do nothing."

"You should rest," Brad advised, "You don't look so hot."  
It made Legolas chuckle. "I don't?"

"You know what I mean," Brad retorted, "Besides, I think you're just looking for something they missed so you can fly on over there after them in good conscience, without breaking that honor-code blah blah you gave to Elrohir. I think rest and recovery was part of the bargain too though, wasn't it?"

"He didn't ask for my word," Legolas said impishly, "That's his fault."  
"So you're a wise-ass," Brad said wryly.

"I like to think so," said the elf.

"Adrian told me to look after you," Brad said, "I gave him my word. I think putting something in your drink is part of the duty."

"I won't take anything from your hands," Legolas said with a surprised laugh.

"I'll find other means," Brad said.

"I'm sure," Legolas chuckled wearily.

The exchange was cut off by a ringing cellphone. Legolas recognized the sound as his own, and instinctively felt at his pockets. He frowned in thought, wondering where he left his mobile until Harding appeared from the kitchens and tossed the ringing phone to him.

The Mirkwood elf caught it cleanly, and blanched just a little at the quick sight of Rafe Montes' name on the register.

"Hey Rafe," he said.

"Greene!" came the exclamation of a greeting, "Oh thank God, we all thought you were dead! We saw your capture on the news, what the hell do you have to do with the labor unions in Rome? My wife saw you on CNN and she was going crazy, and word got out to the press, the feds got wind of an original copy without your face blurred and everyone's going crazy here and—Sir! Ow!" came the fading cry, for a few shuffles later and it seemed as if someone forcibly wrested the cell phone from his partner.

"Greene," barked his precinct Captain, and Legolas groaned inwardly. Oh, he can feel that sting even from countries away…

"Sir," Legolas gulped, unaccustomed to being so flustered.

"You're alive?" the Captain asked.

"Yes sir," Legolas replied.

"Good," the Captain said darkly, "I'll kill you myself. Why didn't you tell me you were working for Interpol?"

Legolas pressed a hand to his throbbing head. Labor Unions. Him, on CNN. The feds. How long has he been out of sorts?!

"Sir," Legolas said tentatively, "the connection's a bit bad, what was that last part?"

"I'm going to kill you!" the Captain barked, "Get your ass back here, I'm going to debrief you to half your life."

"Sir?" Legolas asked, pulling the phone away from his ear, "You're breaking up, I'll call you back. Later. Tomorrow. I'm fine. I'm sorry." He ended the call and looked at his companions miserably.

"They're all talking about me and a Labor Union," Legolas said with exasperation, "What in the world did I miss?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Long chapter, eh? :) I'm finding it's actually one of my favorites for some reason :)

So just wanted to say a big THANK YOU for all those who read and all who review. Thank you so so much for your valuable time, you really make me want to be better, and faster. I'm really really trying my best so thank you for the fire :)

I'm presently working on chapter 30 and, I know many will be pleased that I'm working on having hobbits there :) so lots of craziness abound :)

Look out for chapter 28, which is when _Aragorn_ and Legolas talk for the first time in ages, and the _true_ impact of Harding and Brad knowing what their past was will be revealed. Keep the reviews coming if you can and 'til then!!! :)


	28. Disaster

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

28: Disaster

* * *

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

* * *

Finn Baggins was a twenty-year-old orphan with penetrating blue eyes. He was going to University, pursuing a degree in Art History and Art Management. Finn Baggins was a scholar, but he worked in a local museum part-time also for extra spending as well as for work experience. He was kind, a bit quiet. A bit of the odd ball in the crowd he was most often with, distant cousins who were known more for mischief than scholarly achievements.

Philip 'Pip' Took was one of these distant relatives. A bit of a clown, a bit reckless, he was always the life of the party. The college coeds seemed to truly enjoy his boyish charm, his easy way about the world. Careless, confident swagger, impish grin, impulsiveness, he was almost Finn's perfect foil.

Mark Brandy was Pip's best friend and a relative too. He was the smartest of them all, perhaps a curious mix of Finn and Pip. He had an IQ reaching up to the skies, but he also had a very, _very_ keen eye for finding mischief that was not merely by virtue of being around Philip.

The tight group was rounded up by Sam Granger, who was Finn's dearest friend. When Finn was orphaned and moved to his uncle Bob Baggins' place up in Oxford, and Sam was the neighbor who took him into the fold. Sam was, after all, Bob Baggins' young lawn mower man, and Bob Baggins, a famous archeologist, was also often away from home.

_Such as now_, Legolas thought darkly, for they could not get in touch with Bob Baggins either. The flighty scholar was off somewhere his assistant claimed he did not have the right to disclose.

All four of the younger hobbits went to the same school, although Pip surely lived as if he had little else to do other than have fun. He was, however, Legolas deduced, persistently smart in a way, because he always seemed to achieve the grade requirements, even if he was somewhat known for squandering away his time in college.

Legolas pressed at the bridge of his nose. The school address was on the file, their psychological profiles, guidance records, even their _grades_ were on the file Goran found, including home addresses and some relatives and where they lived too. They were theorhetically supposed to be easy to find! And yet they could not be contacted or found, and he was truly beginning to fear for them.

"Hey," Brad said to him, "You've been in front of that thing for hours."

Legolas sighed, almost forcibly tearing his eyes from the screen. "We're missing something. They cannot simply be not there."

"Well it's the summer season," Brad pointed out, "Maybe they all went on vacation or something."  
"So did we pull out files, expenses on credit cards, gas cards, anything at all like that?" Legolas asked Goran, who was sonmewhere behind him, scowling to himself as he sat on a long couch across from Harding.

"No trip expenses," Goran replied gruffly.

"Have we checked out ticket reservations, ship's logs, anything at all like that?" Legolas asked, "They may have paid in cash but you can never get far without a paper trail these days."

"You can always fake names in those cases," Goran pointed out, "If they're not where they're supposed to be, we likely got beat to the chase."

Legolas closed his eyes and sighed, resting his chin on his folded arms. He refused to believe that. But he was naturally worried, and he was exhausted, and he had just a great and profound feeling of helplessness plaguing him. He ran his hands over his face. His fingers shook a tad with his illness and fatigue, and the perceptive Brad frowned at the sight with displeasure.

"You should take a break," he said to the detective sternly.

"I can't," Legolas winced, "I have to settle this."

"Sometimes," Harding said coolly from the couch, "Maybe there just isn't anything for you to do but take care of your own problems."

"The prick's right, lad," said Goran, "You will not be helping anyone until you've helped yourself."

"I'm not a prick, _dwarf_," Harding snapped.

Legolas whipped his head toward Harding, his body protesting the movement with an ache, though he was certainly more occupied with wondering if he heard right…

"Lie down," Brad said to Legolas, cutting through his muddled thoughts, "Sleep. Rest. Don't be a damn brat. Or go think about your own problems, like what you're going to tell your boss."

Legolas winced. "Maybe I'm just delaying that," he said dryly, glancing at Harding intently. The agent looked at him openly, inquiringly, offering no quick answers. The man wouldn't speak unless he felt like it, much like the Lothlorien elf who shared his body, somewhere within. Legolas sighed. He'll push Haldir later. As he was wisely told, _maybe there just isn't anything for you to do but take care of your own problems_…

His eyes drifted and focused up at the stairs he had to climb just to get back to bed. He was delaying that too, he noted, having to rise and walk a considerable distance in this blasted, uncooperative body…

He released an exasperated breath and pushed his chair away from the desk. He rose to his feet quickly, wanting the task done with. But he really should have given it more thought, because as soon as he carried his own weight, he swayed dangerously where he stood and barely felt Goran rising up to steady him and sling his arm over his broad shoulders just to keep him upright.

Brad was muttering curses as Legolas blinked himself back to the present. "I'm sorry," the elf mumbled, "I just got up too quickly."

"Damn right," Brad snapped, pressing a palm to Legolas' flaming forehead, "You got up too quickly hours ago."

Goran dragged him to the sofa like a sack of potatoes, and Legolas reflected that it was embarrassing and unglamorous. The dwarf was not only taller and broader than him, he was also being very irreverent…

He was flopped down onto the sofa heavily, and truly realized that he was being manhandled when the hacker lifted up his booted feet and planted them on the other end of the couch, effectively forcing him to lie down.

"All better," Goran grunted, looking over at the blasé Harding mischievously, "He's got the couch, I got nowhere else to sleep but away from you."

"I thought you were just being kind," Legolas muttered.

"Well yes," Goran grinned, "But I'm also being very opportunistic."

"Floor," Harding said sternly, "Rug. Take your pick. I'm pretty sure it's clean."

Goran growled at him and settled on the chair Legolas vacated. He really might as well get some work done.

Brad left them awhile and returned from the kitchen with an ice pack he wanted to slap onto the elf's forehead out of annoyance. But he was gentle still, and left again and returned with a blanket he commandeered out of the rooms upstairs.

"Wake me for any developments," Legolas told him, blue eyes boring into his own with fiery determination, "Promise."

"If there's a disaster, Greene," said Brad, patting his arm reassuringly, "Trust me you'd be the first to know."

* * *

London, England

Mid-2004

* * *

They met their 'new' member at the airport.

Elladan flanked him, perfectly comfortable in the background. The man was, after all, eating up half the world just by walking there. He's not been with Aragorn in so long he's forgotten how overwhelming he could be. The kingly presence was potent, forthright, unhesitant. His strides were wide, his stance mighty. Yet his eyes held a gentle, magnetic kindness and ineffable charm and wisdom too. Adrian Aarons still lived in there somewhere, just as innocent Estel, and hardy Strider, and any other facet of a very complex character Aragorn Son of Arathorn had once used as his skin. He fit well anywhere he went, all that he touched curiously turned to gold— battles and wars, miscellaneous jobs, _people_ too.

He remembered that Imladris day when Adrian Aarons stepped into the room to invoke Aragorn. A determined doctor stepped inside, a King with fiery eyes stepped.

Brother, Aragorn said to him in Elvish.

Tears sprang up to his eyes helplessly. A wondrous reunion to be sure, but the fire in his heart and the gleam to his old, weary soul was reinforced suddenly. It was as true for him as it was to the others it seemed, and he watched Eowyn smile as if the sun was rising before her eyes.

The Shieldmaiden of Rohan knew the very breath their eyes met that Aragorn was at last restored to them. She felt a measure of sadness, for the 'loss' of the Adrian Aarons who feared he wasn't quite enough to the task. But Aragorn was always assuring to her, and they needed all the assurance they could get since the role previously played by Legolas was for now vacant with the elf's injuries.

Aragorn murmured in Elvish to Elrohir and Gandalf as he gave them quick embraces. His eyes were heavier set and a bit lonelier, but calmly determined as always. His strides were broader, his presence more remarkable. He emanated power and wisdom, even in his faded jeans and loose sweatshirt beneath a distressed leather coat. In him the worlds have crashed together, and things ought to move faster now…

"Eowyn," Aragorn greeted her, "How do you fare?"

"Welcome back," she said to him with a smile, "I am fine. How are you, Adrian?"

He smiled a bit, endeared that she would insist upon the more troubled doctor's name. "I am still alive," he said wryly, "I am all of myself all at once, in here."

"That's good," she said quietly, standing aside as Faramir gripped the hand of his King. He fervently wished to bow, but the multitude of folk about the airport would have found it very very strange.

Anatalia engulfed Elladan in her arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Hello."

He laughed in surprise, finding the chaste peck and the quiet words a bit of an understatement. "You did not miss me at all!"

She winked at him and twined her fingers about his own. "Come. Let's go look for _hobbits_, love."

* * *

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

* * *

Goran was pacing the room nervously. Oh, he was in such deep trouble. The living room was dimly lit, a soothing, radiant orange dulled to a peaceful quiet. But his heart was racing and he decided he must indeed be going insane.

_What do I do, what do I do, what do I do_…

He could, he supposed, as he's been wanting to do for quite awhile now, simply sneak away. No one's watching, Harding was gone, and no one's to stop him. He was a clever man, he had a lot of money, he could just vanish off the face of the Earth and never be bothered by elves and wizards and businessmen and Interpol ever again.

But when Harding left him, the agent had a curious look to his eye, as if he knew that there was a kindness to the hacker, a generosity that wouldn't allow him to leave the side of the ailing detective, even if it meant his freedom. Or perhaps the glint in his eye was a dare, or a test.

_What do I do, what do I do, what do I do_…

He had a brainchild, and all his present problems began with that. Bob Baggins had an ATM card, with Finn as an extension. A curious amount was drawn out, something so exact that it caught his eye. That very same day, Sam Granger drew from his personal savings for the very first time in his frugal life-- the same amount. Pip Took did not have any records of the same amount, although Mark Brandy had drawn twice that amount from his own extension, as if to cover for both of them.

Goran played with the cost in his mind, wondering what it could be, where the money could have gone. He checked out bus routes, calculated cab fares, checked out plane tickets.

And that was when lightning struck. The cost took them all the way from England to Sinop, in Turkey.

_The hell_?! he thought, for it seemed crazy, so random and preposterous, completely out of this world.

Goran tried coming up with the same cost to other destinations, to no avail. The case was put to rest when he discovered, in passing, that the famous archeologist Bob Baggins was in Turkey as well, the most recent addition to a team of nautical archeologists and historians investigating the Black Sea. Brad and Harding surely bought the idea, and they bought plane tickets too, all this as Legolas was innocently asleep on the couch…

"But it doesn't make any sense!" Goran had exclaimed, "Why would they go over there in such an unplanned manner?"

"We can only deduce that they wanted to keep the trip a secret," Harding said as he hurriedly put his few things together for the trip to Turkey, "Especially if someone was after them."

"Let's not do anything rash," Goran said quickly, hands flailing, trying to slow down time, willing them to _stop_ preparing their things for a trip Legolas was obviously _not_ going to know about until he woke up. "Let's call the others."

Brad glanced at Harding, before nodding at Goran. "Yeah, sounds good. You… ah… you go do that."

Goran's eyes nearly popped out of his sockets, "What?"  
"Only two tickets on the next plane flight," Harding said, "I'm a trained agent for Interpol, and he's…" Harding scrambled to rationally explain Brad's place in the quick trip over Goran's, "And he's the one who sweet-talked the ticket lady into squeezing us in the last moment. We have to go. Besides, Greene needs looking after."

"You can't leave us here!" Goran demanded.

"Lower your voice!" Brad urged, "You'll wake Legolas up."

"How do you know I won't leave?" Goran asked Harding, who smiled at him a bit and said nothing. And then Brad and Harding left him there, in Anatalia Craxi's house, with an ailing elf who'd be very pissed at the world when he wakes up. They left him to his own conscience, forcing him to stay. They left him to deal with the inevitable ire of Leland Greene over having been thus abandoned. They left him with having to make the blasted call to the others.

"Oh for god's sake," he muttered, kneeling beside the elf and shaking him awake. "Greene! You'll never believe this."

* * *

Oxford, England

Mid-2004

* * *

Empty house.

It was the third one they've visited, the flat that Mark Brandy shared with Pip Took near their school. Aragorn was contemplating kicking the door open, to see for himself that it was truly empty. But it was broad daylight, and nowadays such an act brought more trouble than it did in the old days…

His comrades beside him were on their cellphones, trying to reach the hobbits by their cell numbers. They kept getting the computerized voice of a female telling them that the phone was either unattended or out of reach.

_In more ways than one_, he thought in great frustration.

Emmett pushed him aside, motioning for his younger sister to move toward him. "Pins, pins, Eunice. Fast."

"What?" Aragorn asked, watching as Eunice yielded her slim hair pins to her older brother, who twisted them and began using it to unlock the door. Aragorn watched Emmett work, looking amazed and horrified. "Eomer, where in the world did you learn that?"

"Did you grow up with bodyguards who wouldn't leave you alone?" Emmett replied, tossing Aragorn a quick smile over his shoulder, before twisting at the knob and successfully pushing the door open.

"No," Aragorn replied.

"I didn't think so," Emmett said, smiling triumphantly as he bowed the others inside. The multi-millionaire seemed to find such ridiculous pride in an apparently minor achievement!

Eowyn smirked at him and patted his shoulder as she walked into the house behind Faramir and Aragorn.

"Hello?" the once-King of Gondor and Arnor hollered into the space. Gandalf scowled at the mess of a place; it was so ill-kept it was just simply a waste of good real estate. To top it all off, it was devoid of any Peregrin Took to receive the end of his scolding.

"Empty," Faramir declared.

"Battery's out," Ana added, raising up two cell phones that have been left on the coffee table alongside old chips and empty beer bottles.

"Where the hell are they," Elrohir murmured.

Suddenly, Aragorn's own mobile rang and his brows rose at Leland Greene's number. He answered it with a bit of a smile, saying, _Mellon-nin_ in greeting.

"Aragorn," came the quiet, weary and edged reply of his old friend. "I… Well…" a bit of a heavy sigh, "Welcome back."

Aragorn frowned. "Legolas? What is it?"

* * *

Rome, Italy

Mid-2004

* * *

_Legolas_…

_Mellon-nin_…

The sound of that voice saying those words brought an unwelcome lump upon his throat. Or maybe he was just so frustrated and exhausted that his usually well-placed composure was faltering.

"Welcome back," he said again, trying to find the right words, "But we… we will speak of this later."

"What's the matter?" Aragorn asked, stricken by the tone of the elf's wavering voice.

"The hobbits are in Turkey," Legolas said, "Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry and Bilbo are in Sinop, near the Black Sea. They're not where you are. I booked a flight, and we're leaving in three hours to follow them."

"Legolas," Aragorn said, "You're not well yet. Wait for us before you do anything. Have a care for those whom you are with, you cannot protect them as you are—"

"They left ahead of me," Legolas growled, angry, "Brad and Harding, an hour ago, they just caught a flight and the last two seats. They left without me."

"And me!" the hacker beside him exclaimed.

A long silence at the other end of the line.

"Aragorn," Legolas said quickly, nervously, so profoundly disarmed was he by his tiredness and ire, "I am so sorry. I fell asleep. There is no excuse. They slipped past me. I made Brad promise to wake me, but now that I think about it he actually kind of didn't. Brad said I'll be the first to know about any disaster and in a way he's actually kind of right. What a cursed, cursed disaster." He took a shaky breath, concluding with "I cannot lose them again. I have to go to them. I cannot just be here."

"I know," the _adan_ said, an ages-old pain evident in his voice, "I know. Go… go do as you must my friend. But keep safe. We've only just reclaimed each other. There is much to speak of."

* * *

Oxford, England

Mid-2004

* * *

"We're in the wrong cursed place," Aragorn muttered as he pocketed his cellphone, "They are in Turkey."

"The hobbits?" Faramir asked.

"Yes," replied Aragorn, "Them. And your brother. And Harding."

_Also known as the walking dead…_

"They have a goddamn death wish or what?" Emmett breathed.

"Likely," Aragorn winced, recalling the conversation he as Adrian Aarons had with his friend days ago.

* * *

_"I'm going to die," Brad said flatly._

_"Things are different," __Adrian__ argued, "You're not who they think you are. I'm not who they think I am. Or we don't have to be. Either way, that means the story's changed."_

_"I don't know anymore, man," Brad sighed wearily, "I look at you now, and you're somebody else sometimes. Maybe… I don't know. Nevermind, you know, whatever. If it's your time to go, it's your time to go, right?"_

_"No one's dying," __Adrian__ said with resolve._

_"Maybe it's all right," Brad said pensively, "You know, if the old story pushes through. Because that means we'll win. And I'm the only one who'll end up dead. It's not so bad."_

* * *

"Boromir thinks his death could ultimately mean our victory," Aragorn said darkly.

"Haldir was made known of his past fate too," Gandalf said, "I do not deem it impossible for them to share the same sentiment. We have to get there quickly."

"I'll check for commercial and chartered flights," Anatalia said urgently, hurriedly getting on her mobile.

"I have a plane too," Emmett offered, "We can leave as soon as the jet is prepared. But it will take a few hours, we have to make arrangements. We'll go with that which can bring us sooner."

"Turkey, you say," murmured Elrohir, frowning a bit, "That could be bad. Where there?"

"Sinop," replied Aragorn, "Legolas said it's near the Black Sea."

"That's not good," muttered Elrohir.

"Why not?" asked Aragorn.

"What of Legolas?" Elladan asked, before Elrohir could reply.

"He's following them within the next few hours," replied the _adan_ with a wince.

"He gave me his word he'd stay out of it!" Elrohir exclaimed, before he frowned and remembered, "No wait. The bloody rake didn't!"

"What's wrong with going to Sinop?" Aragorn asked.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Thanks for the c&c's… keep the reviews coming if you can, they are so encouraging it's like setting fire to my tail :) I'm fervently working and as quickly as I can… I'm up to partway of chapter 31. I hope quality doesn't suffer :)

So chapter 29… hm… first sight of Sinop, Turkey, and read that chapter very well… lot's of history, lots of reasons why the fellowship ends up there :) and first sight of the hobbits too! :) 'til then!!!


	29. Shopping

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

29: Shopping

" " "

Flight

Rome, Italy to Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

" " "

Bob Baggins was a fifty-eight year old who was being a grander mischief-maker than his age normally would have allowed. He was a nautical archaeologist by degree, an avid historian by spirit, an adeventurer at heart. His litany of tours included stints in Egypt, China, Iran… where the waters of ancient cultures ran, so did Bob Baggins. He's even spent months on end in ships and barges in the middle of seas and oceans. Such was the case in that he was now in the territories of Turkey, using Sinop as his main docking area but spending more time in the middle of the Black Sea.

Legolas examined more of the eccentric and popular scholar/adventurer's file from Jimmy Goran's laptop. He winced and noted the names of two colleagues of Baggins' he almost simply glossed over.

Sean Malcolm and Dean Malcolm. Cousins, several years Bob Baggins' senior, also his pair of mentors from long ago, who were presently with him in the Black Sea.

Legolas stared at their photographs a bit longer, his jaw setting in grim thoughts. _Smeagol__ and Deagol_, he decided by name and affiliation, though he never saw the latter and new the former only as the distorted, ghoul _Gollum_.

_Blast_, he thought, thinking that conditions were now indeed ripe for a fantastic disaster and Sinop, Turkey was the likely stage.

_And Boromir and Haldir went off without me_…

"You look like you're gonna go bury someone," Goran said with a grunt, shifting his position beside the glum elf.

"Oh I am," Legolas sighed, "I'll kill them and bury them myself…"

"Seriously?" said Goran wistfully, "I don't know. Your face… like this… it makes me sad too, suddenly. I mean I can't explain it. It's just so strangely familiar."

Legolas glanced at him, said nothing. Funny that the dwarf should remember _this_ look of all things. In afterthought, however, if anyone would have seen much of it, then that would indeed be Gimli the dwarf— he was there when Gandalf fell, when Boromir died, when all the folk they loved died all around them, when _Aragorn died_… likely, Gimli had seen the same look when Legolas said goodbye to him, when he himself died all those ages ago…

"I'd forget about it," Legolas muttered.

Goran frowned at him and fell silent a long moment. "You've got issues, man."

Legolas tossed him a sour look, before glancing out his plane window, as if there were things to see outside.

"So the guy's uncle is in Turkey, right?" said Goran, "Why do you look so glum? Sinop is like, this resort isthmus facing the Black Sea. Nice place, I heard. Maybe they just went over to visit the guy's uncle or something. I mean, Bob Baggins is there excavating some thing or other. You're just pissed they got the best of you, eh, Brad and Harding?"

"That's part of it," Legolas said dryly, "But not just that. I'm not petty… or at least I certainly try." He sighed, ran his hands over his face, "Gods. Where do I start. Hm. You've been told the story, right? This Ring…?"

"Yes," Goran answered, "I've been loosely informed."

"Before it came into the hands of the four hobbits we were trying to find," said Legolas, "It went to Bob Baggins first, and two other hobbits before him. They are all in Sinop at the moment. This whole situation is driving me crazy. First I thought that there is no new Ring-like evil resurrected in our times, and Wormtongue is just chasing ghosts and misusing his life's second chance. In effect, our search was originally geared only toward the prptection of the hobbits—our old friends-- against Wormtongue. But now…" he shook his head in dismay, "The Ring was forged in a place called Mordor, and when the ring was destroyed the land fell with it. The ages shifted the earth and this land sank lower and lower, eventually filling with water, turning into a deep lake. And then when the glaciers melted some millennia ago, the Meditarranean spilled over the land that separated the lake from the sea, eventually creating The Black Sea."

"Yeah…?" Goran encouraged.

"So we are, in effect, headed toward old Mordor," Legolas pointed out, "And Bob Baggins-- Bilbo Baggins--, and his two other ex-hobbit colleagues are digging around in the dirt because, well, that's what they do for a living now. Maybe this is more than Wormtongue's ghosts after all. Maybe there truly is an old evil awaiting us beneath the Sea. That is, if Baggins and co. have not found it and raised it up yet."

Goran scrunched his face in dismay. "Or maybe he's simply an archeologist and his nephew and his nephew's friends are just coming for a visit. It is vacation time, and he is after all working near a bloody beach."

"Yes, well," Legolas sighed, too tired to argue, "There is that too, I suppose."

"But you don't really believe it," Goran pointed out.

"Oh what do you want me to say?" Legolas asked exasperatedly.

"I need you to believe it," Goran answered.

"Wel I couldn't even if I tried," Legolas guaranteed him.

Goran frowned at him, crossed his thick arms over his burly chest. His mind was racing, as he pondered what kind of thing this was he just got into. He was nervous, and that's because he found himself believing the situation he's formerly categorically classified simply as crap that ends with him having a good load of relatively easy money. Now his life was in danger. The world was in danger! He wasn't sure exactly how and when it happened, only that it did and he was very likely in deep trouble.

"I did say you're contagious," Goran muttered, and the elf beside him smiled a little for the first time since Goran woke him up with the terrible news.

"Yes, well," said Legolas, "You stayed without having been forced. As you said, you could have tossed me on my arse."

"So it's my fault?" asked Goran wryly.

"It most certainly is."

" " "

The elf made good use of the flight by sleeping, and Goran wisely advised him to face the window or cover his face with his hair or hand lest the stewardesses think he just keeled over and died there. He took the advice to heart, and his back was turned to Goran, face turned toward the window.

The elf seemed stronger and was recovering quickly, a vast relief to Goran in a world that was crumbling right beneath his feet. Because the ride was tight and he was a very burly fellow, he felt Legolas' phone vibrate with a call, even though the elf's mobile was in his loose, outer coat pocket.

"I got it," Goran murmured, fishing for the mobile easily as the elf stirred and then went back to sleeping. The call was registered as coming from Adrian Aarons.

"'Ello," Goran greeted.

"Gimli!" Aragorn exclaimed, "How's Legolas?"

"Asleep," the hacker replied, thinking with some surprise that he was already getting strangely comfortable with a stranger's name. "Where are you?"

"We're catching a flight now," Aragorn replied, "We'll be there just a few hours after you. Where do we go after we get to Sinop?"

"The hobbits can't get anywhere without much money," said Goran, "Either they go to Finn Baggins' uncle—unlikely, unless they plan on walking there—or he picks them up. He can take them to just a few places; a couple of hotels in the area. But I'm betting they want a secure area if they think they're being followed around or threatened. I'm talking about Baggins' excavation site."

"Where's that?" Aragorn asked with a wince.

"A barge in the middle of the Black Sea," replied Goran, "Secured area, passes required, all that. They don't know us, they won't trust us, they won't let us in. That's gonna be a tricky one, even for you."

"Ha," said Aragorn, his mind already racing for a plan, "You have your laptop with you?"

"Always," replied Goran, "And a few… _trappings_ from our Italian adventure too, just in case."

"Good," Aragorn affirmed, "Fantastic."

"What's in your head, boy?" growled Goran.

"Just stay put when you get there," Aragorn said easily, "Tell the stubborn elf to wait for me before he does anything. We'll think of something. I'll get in touch with Brad and Harding and tell them to stay still."

"Good luck," said Goran, "We've been calling them but they do not answer."

"Did you use Legolas' mobile?" Aragorn said wryly, "If that registered in their cell phones, they'd likely ignore it to escape his ire." He barked a laugh, "I would."

Goran glanced at the sleeping elf beside him nervously. "Oh, yes. So would I."

" " "

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

" " "

Brad's phone was ringing, as it had been ringing sporadically since he left ol' Detective Leland Greene up in Rome. He didn't really feel much like dealing with the angry elf and so ignored the call for the most part. This time, however, he was truly busy.

Horace Harding, like other truly great agents before him, had alliances both official and… well, for lack of a better term, _shady_. Which Brad thought of with a wince, because the wordplay was truly unintended…

He and Harding were standing in a touristy-shop that was so small it was like a hole in the wall. The real crazy thing about it all was that the _shady_ local who was Harding's contact was selling… well, _shades_. Sunglasses of all sorts lined the walls, and he absently picked up a tacky, yellow plastic pair and wondered at who would buy it…

He pretended to be busy. He, Harding and the shopkeep were the only ones there, although the streets were busy with the mid-morning crowds. Harding was speaking in… Turkish, Brad supposed. The shopkeep was looking at the Interpol agent wryly and they both chuckled, as if sharing in a joke.

After a few more words, the shopkeep looked about the shop warily, and then closed his doors and flipped the sign— Brad did not understand what was writted but it likely meant 'Sorry, we're closed.'

"You all right?" Harding asked Brad.

"Yeah," replied the American, "I didn't know you can speak Turkish."

"I know a whole lot of things," Harding said coolly, "I was stationed here for a time."

Harding turned back to the shopkeep, who was busying himself behind his tiny counter. Brad heard a click from somewhere and the shopkeep smiled a bit in satisfaction. He then walked over to one of the wall displays and literally just pulled at it and it opened up like a secret cabinet.

Brad craned his neck to have a look, but the shopkeep handed Harding a pair of battered old black and brown leather bags, before sealing up his secret cabinet again and re-opening his shop.

Harding handed Brad one of the bags and they both began to stride towards the door when the shopkeep called them back in.

"You," he said to Brad, voice heavy with an exotic accent, "Buy shades for American dollars."

" " "

They looked so grave that it was so easy to spot them amidst the resort crowd of sunny Sinop.

Brad and Harding commandeered a corner of one of the multitude of seafood restaurants facing the Black Sea and lining the shore. The Interpol agent and the American lab technician had wide sunglasses over their sleepless eyes, dark, European coats and battered, dark, leather bags piled atop one of the chairs and cups of coffee and plates of half-eaten kebab and mackerel littering their table. They looked a bit the worse for wear, dark clothes wrinkled from travel as if they just fell into the island from some other place they were supposed to be. They managed to look cold and imposing, however, like a black hole in the middle of a sun-kissed paradise.

They turned to the new arrivals in the same instant, watching coolly as a frigid Legolas and burly Goran slumped to the chairs across from them.

"Where've you been?" Goran demanded, "You didn't answer our calls!"

"We were busy," Harding replied, "I was with my… less reputable contacts here acquiring some hardware for us."

"Hardware?" Goran muttered, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the menacing-packages haphazardly stacked on a chair.

Brad watched the pair a moment, before wordlessly pushing the half-empty plate of kebab in offering to Legolas, who glanced at it before he raised his eyes to Brad. "You owe me an apology."

The elf saw the man's lips quirk a bit, and the eyes beneath the dark shades light up. "I do?"

"You do," the elf said.

"I don't know, man," Brad said with a smirk, "You broke the word you didn't give to Elrohir, I broke the word I didn't give to you… I'd call it square. Or karma."

Legolas looked at him dryly, but was quite satisfied with that, in that he had Brad and Harding, flesh and blood before him, smiling, making crazy jokes and seeming so alive. The elf's long fingers drummed on the table as he considered the fine Turkish fare.

"I'll have it if you won't," Goran said, and Legolas coolly slid the plate along to his old/new friend.

"Where do we stand?" Legolas asked Brad and Harding.

"I got in touch with my affiliates here," Harding replied with a wince, "They said my bosses are pissed because I'm supposed to be in Italy with them, but I also got us the information we want. Four young Brits came in about five days ago, real nervous like, though I've been told one of them still had the gall to try and charge a meal to one of the patrons of this very restaurant and sneak out. They washed the dishes to pay it off, and the owner was endeared enough to give them a free dinner. Then Bob Baggins picked them up and took them to the _Amazona_ in the middle of the Black Sea. That would be the excavation barge. They've been there since. But Bob Baggins is doing a speech in a local hotel this evening so he's docking. Black tie, several course dinner, invitation only." The Interpol agent grinned and raised up two invites from his pocket, "For me and a date."

"The hobbits are alive," Legolas breathed, "Good. Any sign of Warrington?"

"No," Harding replied, "Else we'd have picked him up on the spot. International jurisdiction, my friend."

"Lucky you," said Legolas wryly, "What's with the speech tonight?"

"Baggins will talk about his finds," said Harding.

"What's he doing in the Black Sea anyway?" asked Goran, munching on the kebab. The great food was elevating his spirit despite the direness of the situation.

"The Black Sea and pretty much this entire area has been a multi-cultural hub for centuries and centuries," said Harding, "Great ancient kingdoms—talk about the Black Sea and you'll hear of great old Greece and Imperial Rome, Constantinople, Byzantine, Ottoman… any big ancient name you can think of, I can guarantee you it came through here as either conquerors, traders or plain adventurers. They've all crossed these seas and these lands, and so it is easy to believe there are a lot of ancient treasures abound that are valuable both monetarily and academically. Especially since the Black Sea has also been referred to as _Karadeniz_ by the Turks and _Axenos_ by the Greeks —both means inhospitable—for the storms. Hence, likely there are shipwrecks down there."

"Lots of wrecks to see all over the world," Brad pointed out.

"Yes," conceded Harding, "But the thing with the Black Sea is that because it used to be freshwater and suddenly became seawater when the glaciers melted several thousand years ago, it resulted in a deeper layer that is anoxic—no oxygen whatsoever, poisonous even—where no living things could survive and there is nothing to feed or degrade the wooden wrecks below. So we're talking about ships thousands of years old, found hundreds of feet below the Black Sea that are so well-preserved they could have just come out of the shop yesterday. Theoretically, they could even find human remains that are thousands upon thousands of years old."

"It will be just like a class reunion for Greene," Brad chided, exchanging sour looks with Legolas.

"Aside from the great preservation," Harding continued, "Turkey is also the intersection of three tectonic plates—the Eurasian, African and Arabian plates, making earthquakes often harsh and surely common. So storms created shipwrecks from long ago, the Black Sea preserved them, and the earthquakes often stir out those from the deeper depths, so once in awhile people can really recover some stellar finds that have been beneath the sea for ages. That's what Baggins is here for. That's what any visionary nautical archeologist or historian or even anthropologist would be here for."

"Stellar find," murmured Legolas thoughtfully, "I wouldn't necessary call it that… the Ring, I mean."

"You're an _elf_," Goran retorted, "You wouldn't call a spade a spade!"

Legolas looked at him dubiously, raising an eyebrow at him, for traces of Gimli the dwarf were undoubtedly fighting their way out.

Goran frowned at himself, shifted in his seat and stuffed the last of the kebab in his mouth. He nodded toward the sunglasses Brad and Harding were wearing.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked.

"Some tourist shop down the street," Harding replied, "That's where my contact works. Why?"

"You two look like…" Goran hesitated, "Well say I'm twenty years old, right, young and nervous and I think someone's after me? Well… Well… when I see you, I'm going to think they're you."

Legolas stifled a laugh.

" " "

It was out of pride that they did not lose the sunglasses, lest the blasted hacker find in satisfaction that his opinion actually mattered to them. And so it was in this way that Brad, Harding, Legolas and Goran decided to go on about the resort town.

The breezes were comforting, and the place was naturally beautiful. Once in awhile, Legolas would glance out to the sea that had once demanded at him so persistently. He frowned in thought—he was looking out to the Black Sea, yes, but it was also inextricably part of the great breadth that laid claim to his elven destiny. It still called, and he remembered that he's not stood before any beach since… since World War II. He sighed heavily, and sought solace in his strange companions.

"You all right?" Goran asked, glancing _down_ on his face.

"Yes," Legolas said, flashing him a quick, reassuring smile.

They strode into the adjoining hotel rooms they've rented out. This was the very hotel where Baggins would be making his speech later that day. Aragorn and company were still quite a few hours away, and it was questionable whether or not they'd make it in time for the event tonight, so the four of them had to be reasonably well-rested and prepared on their own.

Goran wordlessly yielded the bed closest to the window to Legolas, whose weary eyes oft drifted to the sight of the Sea, as if he was entranced by it.

Brad and Harding shared the room beside theirs, but they kept the adjoining door open, bustling to and fro as they set out to work.

Goran laid out his laptop on the floor, a multitude of wires running toward one of the outlets and the phone lines. He spread himself out on the ground across from it, stomach to the floor and chin on an elbow as he worked with one hand. He was researching Bob Baggins' excavations in the Black Sea; perhaps he could find this so-called Ring or it's like here, if it's already been unearthed.

Legolas was sitting on the edge of the bed behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"So I'm looking for some kind of a Ring," said Goran.

"Literally, yes," said Legolas, "But I believe the original one was truly destroyed, else the land would not have been broken with its fall. But only the gods know what other less vile though undoubtedly dangerous things were crafted there. So we seek any kind of jewelry or artifact that legend holds to encase evil, or give the bearer remarkable powers."

"That could be a whole lot of things," Goran pointed out, "We're talking about centuries worth of legend here, more will be false tall tales rather than the truth you seek. How can you tell fact from fiction?"

"One can't," Legolas said with a wince, "at least, instantly and definitively. I suppose when it all comes down to, it should just feel a certain way."

Brad and Harding appeared by their door, and offered Legolas the various treasures of their weathered leather bags by laying out the guns and rifles and knives on the bed.

"Oh for god's sake," Goran hissed, looking about the room in a panic, "We look like a bunch of terrorists!"

"Relax, Mr. Goran," said Harding, "We're staying in a bloody two-star, you won't find surveillance here."

Legolas in turn rummaged through the bag he and Goran brought and raised up the slim, communication links they commandeered from the Rome mission for the others to see. He and Goran literally brought everything they could think of from the Rome mission left in the house (except the arms they were not allow to bear in flight) in case of a dangerous encounter in Sinop.

"For the event tonight," Legolas said, "I cannot be there, neither can Gimli. I suspect Wormtongue will have the mind to come, and he will likely recognize us. It has to be the two of you. We do not wish to force him into irrational, rash action after all." The elf winced, "But I'm hoping the others arrive in time. You'll forgive me for not only _not_ wanting you out of my sight, but the thought of you two alone also together sends me into spectacular panic."

"That's too bad," said Harding, "We're just here to tell you that Brad and I are going out on the town to look for formal wear."

"You stay," Legolas said to Harding, pushing himself up to his feet, "We are roughly the same. Brad and I will go."

"We may be the walking departed, Greene," said Harding, "But right now, I'll hold my own better than you, eh? Sit tight. Sleep, or something, _you_ look like the dead. We're going shopping, for god's sake, nothing's going to happen."

"Well the last time you went shopping," Goran retorted, "You went home with all of _this_." He nodded to the arms on the bed.

Legolas frowned at Harding disapprovingly. But he knew also that if he dared dispute, Harding was bound to try Elrohir's proving tactic from Rome and he doubted he had the strength or patience for another embarrassing, wordless admission of his slow recovery. He relented, and tossed Harding a comm. link. The Interpol agent caught it cleanly. Legolas tossed another to Brad.

"Do not lose them," he said to the two darkly.

"You're really scary sometimes, Greene," Brad said to him evenly, winking as he turned to leave.

" " "

The bustling city was alive with locals and a smattering of foreign tourists. The sound of the strange and intricate language, the exotic music, the smell of the food and the teas… Sinop was vibrant and alive and just so wildly different, simply _intoxicating_.

Like most tourist destinations, it was already very much modern. But it was not quite a hot Miami yet, with the two-star hotels and simple settlements still lining the beaches contributing the the exotic feeling, and traces of Sinop's grand history still scattered liberally about the city in old buildings, roads, museums, temples, even.

But modern indeed, and Brad and Harding had no trouble at all finding a shop that rented out tuxedos and things.

"Nice," Brad said, nodding and smiling at his reflection in the full-length mirror situated just outside his dressing room. The small shop stood right next to a sidewalk lining a busy street. He was very satisfied with the double-takes the women from outside were giving him and he decided that playing 007 or no, this little adventure may not be a complete loss for his love life after all…

Harding stepped out of the dressing room beside Brad's and glanced at the other man coolly. "Not bad. But it's a bit…"

"A bit what?" Brad asked irritably.

"You look like you're going to the prom," Harding said dryly. He, on the other hand, looked just like James Bond in the black number…

"You look like my goddamn bodyguard," muttered Brad, and both men glanced at each other sourly, and then back at their reflections.

"Harding," Legolas said quietly over the communication link, "Are you all right? You're taking a bit long."

"We're alive, Greene," Brad assured him, as he loosened the bow tie of his suit. Almost casually, his eyes drifted up to look at the mirror and the crowds glancing in on them from outside. It wasn't some fine, exotic woman that caught his eye. Rather, it was a lanky young man with shagging unkempt hair and wide blue eyes, accompanied by three friends. He frowned, because he felt suddenly as if his heart was hammering in his chest.

He gripped Harding by the arm, and nodded to the mirror. Harding followed his gaze to the four young men, and his eyes widened in realization.

"Legolas," Harding said quietly into the comm., "_Hobbits_."

"Come again?" Legolas demanded.

"I'm looking at them right now," Harding said, "I recognize them from the photographs."

"They're looking this way!" muttered Brad, averting his gaze at just the right moment. Finn Baggins had eyes that bored straight through to the soul…

Harding watched them from the mirror, preparing to busy himself with his tie. "They're rushing their pace. I think they think we're watching them."

"Don't do anything rash to—" Legolas was saying, just before Brad bolted after the hobbits and they ran faster away at the sight of him.

"—scare them?" Harding finished for him wryly, watching Brad running out of the shop with his formal wear on. The attendant waved after the American, sputtering curses in his native tongue.

"I'll pay," Harding said quickly to appease him, "We'll take your fine suits, sir."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! As always, massive thanks and keep the reviews coming if you can :) I'm still stuck in chapter 31 but I'm really really working. Hope you guys had a blast!!! :) so sorry for the sporadic updates, I'm trying my best not to keep you hanging for too long I promise :) I've just been so pressed for time. Oh well. 'til the next post!!!


	30. Alongside You

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

30: Alongside You

* * *

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

* * *

_Kids these days_, Brad thought to himself in annoyance. They moved too quickly, too well around people, around booths, around cars… keeping tabs on all four of them was like trying to juggle and… and… doing a bloody _Salsa_ at the same time.

"Stop!" he yelled at them breathlessly, naturally to no avail. A pair of the blasted hobbits have already passed from his sight and vanished into the crowds. He kept his eye on the the back of the blue-eyed one's head, though, feeling a strange drive in him that he could not quite comprehend.

_You hold the fate of us all, little one_…

The words seemed to echo in his head, a strange dream, a familiar stranger. His heart beat faster with the fear of this familiarity than with exertrion, just as it was this voice that bid his feet go faster, made his eyes never leave the prize.

"Stop!" he yelled again, "I'm here to help you!"

Finn Baggins turned a sharp corner, into a quiet alleyway. Brad followed blindly, only to collide with, of all things, a cursed pot that shattered when it impacted with his head. He actually saw the world tilt and his feet fly from the ground as his back hit the hard floor.

The universe seemed to shatter and rush at him, his heart thundered in his ears, and the profoundly sharp ache in his head was promising him unconsciousness shortly.

Four young, earnest-looking faces flushed with excitement and breathless excitement hovered over him. Finn Baggins' blue eyes were boring holes into his face, and Sam Granger warily stared him down. Pip Took had the remnants of a pot in his hands, and he seemed rather proud of himself. The young Brit beside him, Mark, was scowling at him.

"I told you nothing good could have come up from a trip to town," Mark said to him hotly.

"I hated the barge, they don't have much fun there," the other said flippantly.

"Well you're not supposed to be swimming in their work area, right, Pip?" Sam snapped at him.

"Whatever," said Pip, "Anyway we got one of them."

"What if there's more?" Finn asked, looking about them anxiously.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Sam agreed.

"But we have questions," Pip pointed out, "If he's after us, he'll have the answers."

Mark peered at Brad closer. "He's totally out of it, Pip. It might take awhile, um… He's not dying on us, is he?"

Pip pressed his face toward Brad's. "He's alive. Hey. Mister."

"You crazy kids, I'm trying to save your lives," Brad muttered at them, trying to stay awake. The words came out simply as warbled and angry, undoubtedly incomprehensible.

"I think that was a threat on our lives," Pip said, taken slightly aback, "I say, we pick him up and interrogate him."

"With what?" Mark exclaimed, "Look at him, he's built like a rock!"

Pip frowned in thought, and then Brad felt his hands searching his pockets for a wallet. The 'hobbit' frowned.

"No wallet, no anything," Pip said triumphantly, "See? He's totally a bad guy, so in case they get caught, or killed they won't be identified."

"I was trying on some goddamn clothes!" Brad struggled to say, and either the 'hobbits' were born deaf or he didn't sound as if he was making much sense because Mark told Pip Took that the man was telling him to get his hands off the clothes.

"He's kind of well dressed after all," said Sam, "Ain't he?"

_Oh for god's sake_, Brad prayed, so irritated and frustrated was he, _Somebody__ just knock me out!_

"If we want to know some answers," said Pip, "We'd have to ask him ourselves, eh?"

Finn stared at Brad's face, troubled. "I suppose. Besides, we cannot just leave him here, like this."

The heaviest built of the four, Mark and Sam, lifted up Brad between them. The man barely moved, his head was hurting so badly he could scarcely even think of things that aren't bad thoughts.

"What's that in his ear?" Pip asked, pulling the comm. link from Brad and pressing it to his own, hearing a panicked voice crying,

"Brad? Where the hell are you?"

And then another voice, saying "Boromir? Please. Are you there?"

Pip frowned, glancing at Finn. Well. They had a name, at least, which was much more than what they've had to go on these last few days—break-ins, attempted kidnappings, all by masked strangers with secret, misplaced desires. What in the world could they want with a bunch of college kids anyway?

"You think they can hear us?" Pip Took whispered to his companions.

Finn looked at the communication link gravely, and Pip Took handed it to him.

"If you can hear us," Finn said into the gadget, "We have one of you and we will find out who you are and call the police so if I were you, I'd just leave us alone." As an afterthought, he added a bit nervously, "Please."

And then he tossed the link out on the street.

* * *

"Frodo?" Legolas called, instantly recognizing the resonant voice and the quiet, pensive tone, "Frodo, please—" he heard the distinct sound of the toss, and did not doubt their line was now broken.

"Blast," Legolas breathed, closing his eyes in irritation.

"Well," grumbled Goran, "At least they're all together."

"Harding?" Legolas called out, glancing at Goran's laptop, "We have the location of Brad's link. He likely won't be there…"

"I'll retrieve it anyway," Harding replied coolly, "They took him, huh?"

"Yes," Legolas answered.

"They won't hurt him," Harding said confidently.

"I concur," Legolas agreed, finding some in relief in that. "As Goran said. At least they're all together."

* * *

They made it just before the Baggins' banquet.

Aragorn's face spread to a quick, wide smile at the sight of Legolas standing at the airport to greet him. The elf's welcome was more hesitant, a wry grin and a bit of a light in his sick-dulled eyes.

'You're late,' he said to the _adan_ in Elvish after they held each other in an embrace and pulled apart to survey the other's face.

'You look terrible,' Aragorn said to him wryly, although he winced inwardly at the barest truth of the statement. The elf's skin was still unnaturally warm, which the _adan_ felt even through their clothes as they embraced. His blue eyes seemed clouded and weary, his skin ashen and dull. He remembered that he looked to the elven prince for direction as Adrian Aarons. They all did, and he had to admit they all made for a rather demanding bunch, a handful for anybody.

_Well_, he reflected, a_ny prolonged encounter with our group is surely not good for the health, mental or otherwise…_

Elrohir stepped forward and scowled at Legolas. "You're here."  
The Mirkwood elf just smiled at him jauntily. "That's all right, Boromir made me pay for breaking the word I didn't make to you. He broke the word he didn't make to me, _mellon-nin_, so stay that temper, you have been avenged."

"Brad has been taken captive by the hobbits, you said when you called," Gandalf said, eyes alight as if he was contemplating laughing.

"Yes," Legolas replied.

The Istari's eyes dimmed a bit as he then asked, "You also said Smeagol and Deagol are here."

"They're supposed to be," answered the Mirkwood elf, "I've seen this data on their files. But… but we've yet to encounter them, or Bilbo, as we have the four young hobbits. I suspect they are all working in the _Amazona_."

Legolas sighed and looked at the clock poised in one of the airport walls. "We have a little less than two hours to go to Bob Baggins' event at the hotel. Harding's colleagues say he's still in the barge and will board a smaller vessel and dock in the mainland within the hour to go to the hotel. Interpol secured us two tickets to the banquet, I suspect Wormtongue may go as well. I'm contemplating smoking him out, letting the line run long. Let Baggins do the speech, we may learn some things without having to deal with his suspicion, and we'll accost him afterwards and simply watch out for Wormtongue there, like bait. Or, we can play it safe and pick Bob Baggins up the moment he leaves the barge. I suspect we'll encounter more legal troubles that way, especially when those who've arranged the event find their guest of honor has just been kidnapped. What say you?"

"Are the four hobbits coming to the event?" Aragorn asked.

"It is in honor of Finn's uncle after all," said Legolas, "But they may be busy dealing with Boromir. Harding's contacts have spotted four young male Brits dragging along a 'drunken' companion back to the _Amazona_ some hours ago."

"Boromir," Aragorn said, frowning in thought and glancing at the clock Legolas was previously looking at. "What of Smeagol and Deagol?"

"Likely they will come too," said Legolas, "They are colleagues of Bob Baggins."

Aragorn rubbed his chin in thought. "Two tickets to the event, you say?"

"Yes," Legolas replied.

"The only one of us Wormtongue won't recognize is Harding," Aragorn replied, "Maybe Gimli, given the uh… _difference_… in how he now looks. The rest of us he knows from the past, and from recent events. We will occupy ourselves by other means."

Legolas looked at him with a glint of understanding in his eye, "We can do a multituide of things all at once."

"We can have Harding and Gimli in the hotel, listening to the speech and keeping their eyes open for Wormtongue," said Aragorn, "Some of us will discreetly follow Bilbo Baggins from the docks to the event to ensure his safety, some will be on hobbit-watch; maybe infiltrating the _Amazona_ if the four don't leave it to go with Bilbo. The rest will be our eyes and ears, coordinating everyone's efforts from a distance."

"We'll go secure Goran a suit," Harding said, grabbing the despondent hacker's elbow. Goran was a bit irked that he was once again in the company of the overwhelming Interpol agent.

"Our supplies are in our hotel," Legolas said, "We can decide on who goes where bearing what when we get there."

* * *

Goran and Harding went shopping as the group cramped the small space of the two linked hotel rooms. Aragorn glanced at the curious group about him, gauging the right assignments to make.

He had a fair number of warriors, to be sure—Eowyn, Faramir, Elladan, Elrohir, Gandalf, Legolas and himself. Emmett wasn't, but then again Aragorn saw firsthand that he could handle himself in a combat situation perfectly well (either because it's Eomer's warrior's instincts emerging, or another handy trick he learned from having been constantly around his bodyguards). Anatalia had no experience whatsoever, and Elladan will flay him alive if she was placed in any danger. Unsurprisingly, the Rivendell elf did not say this expressly, lest the strong-willed woman endangered _him_ with her ire. But he kept tossing these glances Aragorn's way, and the perceptive _adan_ knew precisely what they meant.

Legolas was likely the best skilled of them all, but he was still recovering and should likely be assigned a task that was not as harrowing. The Prince of Mirkwood will unleash that stubborn streak and argue it out, Aragorn predicted, so before he made the assignments he ensured he had some form of believable excuse to assign the prince to a lighter duty.

"I propose Legolas and Anatalia hold the overseer duties," Aragorn said, and the Mirkwood elf predictably turned to him hotly, "You can work the laptop and communication coordinations better than I," reasoned Aragorn, "You're used to doing work like that, and we're going to need someone handy with it, especially since Gimli will be otherwise occupied."

Legolas set his jaws in irritation and said nothing. Though he did seem vastly irritated, he nodded gravely in acceptance of the _adan_'s order. He would be a liability in the field if he made himself a nuisance and persisted.

_Easier than I thought it would be_, Aragorn decided, _One__ upside to his ills; at least he's too tired to argue_…

So the hotel event was to be attended by Goran and Harding, and communications and coordination was handled by Legolas and Anatalia. Two other divisions were to be made, that of who's to protect Bob Baggins and who's to protect the other hobbits.

He split up Elrohir and Elladan. It was a wise choice considering they were roughly the same strength and that might had to be spread around. He assigned Gandalf to Bilbo, and himself to the other four hobbits; they're going to need familiar and particularly reassuring faces that could make them remember, or even just remotely trust. This was why Eowyn and Faramir were assigned to hobbit-watch as well, for the bonds they've shared with the young ones in the past. Emmett was designated to accompany Gandalf and Elrohir to look after Bilbo.

They distributed comm. links all around, and the weapons that Goran and Legolas managed to sneak into Turkey, and those that Brad and Harding acquired.

The group was testing the comm. links when Jimmy Goran appeared by their door looking sharp and imposing in his dark suit.

"Cleans up well, doesn't he?" Harding said a bit proudly, as if the sight was of his doing and very likely, it most certainly was. Goran was very, _very _cleanly shaved, his hair neat, his suit a perfect fit. Legolas' jaw was on the ground, but his eyes were certainly dancing.

_Thank you Harding_, the Mirkwood elf thought triumphantly, _If__ Gimli should reclaim his memories, he can tease me about my height but I can certainly give him grief for the loss of his beard_…

Aragorn caught Legolas' eye and gave the elf a very dry gaze, as if advising him not to enjoy too much.

_Hair grows, _mellon-nin, Aragorn thought, _You__ on the other hand, will remain with that height for eternity._

Legolas blinked at him innocently, and the _adan_'s lips quirked knowingly.

Elrohir was shaking his head in amazement, profoundly impressed. He tossed Harding and Goran their comm. links and they caught it easily.

"It's been tested, handsome," he said, winking at the flustered Jimmy Goran, "You know, you ought to get used to the clever spy garb, eh?"

"Yeah?" Goran grunted as he slipped on the piece, cleverly concealing the slim wire along his hairline at the back of his ear and placing the tiny microphone on his collar. "Testing, Goran, over." Legolas gave him a nod to acknowledge that his signal was being received by the computer, and he turned back to Elrohir. "Why's that?"

Elrohir shrugged, glancing at Harding pointedly. "Opportunities abound in every corner, eh?"

Goran's eyes narrowed in thought, but he said nothing.

"I just got off the phone with car rentals," Ana said suddenly, "We've secured transportation, they're all downstairs."

Gandalf, Elrohir and Emmett rose and headed toward the doors. The wizard looked at the group fondly.

"Tonight, we will become whole," he said to them with a smile.

"Is that a hope or a prophecy, Mithrandir?" Elladan asked.

"We will make it both," the wizard replied, before giving them a nod and leading the way out the the door.

"See you later!" Elrohir said, waving at them as if he was just headed down to the beach.

Legolas watched the blips representing the comm. links of Elrohir, Gandalf and Emmett move along the map he downloaded. Along with the hotel schematics, he also downloaded road maps of Sinop, that he may keep track of where everyone was. They even got the schematics of the _Amazona_.

He took a deep breath. Naught else to do but get this show on the road. They were as prepared as they could possibly be. He rose to his feet from his position on the floor, and needlessly dusted his clothes out of habit.

He stepped toward Aragorn and gave him a quick hug. In Elvish, he murmured to the_ adan_, 'Heed your own advice to me, brother. Go do as you must, but keep safe. We've only just reclaimed each other. There is much to speak of.'

He felt Aragorn nod against him and they pulled apart, their eyes afire with steely determination. To Elladan, the Mirkwood prince said, "Try and keep each other out of trouble."

"I second that," Anatalia said, staring at the elf she fell in love with. Elladan smiled at her and pressed a slow, indulgent kiss to her forehead before heading toward the door.

"Be safe," Legolas murmured to Eowyn and Faramir, who had their fingers entwined as they walked away together. The second group left the room, which was becoming more and more empty and quiet and heavy with worry and anxiety.

Goran, Anatalia and Legolas stood about each other uncertainly, as the impervious Harding fixed his tie in front of the mirror.

"Don't worry," the Interpol agent said to them distractedly, making Legolas smile a bit. Harding finished with a flourish and stepped toward the door. Goran followed before clasping Legolas' arm in reassurance.

"Arrogant Agent's right," Goran said, "This is going to be a breeze. Just don't mess up my files."

"I'll try," Legolas said wryly, "Be safe, _mellon-nin_."

Goran smiled at him wistfully, his heart knowing_ exactly_ what the strange word meant, just as Harding stopped before the door and turned toward Legolas with a magical, _familiar_ gleam in his eye.

"Long ago," Haldir said to the prince, "we fought and died together. I am proud to fight alongside you once more."

The troublemaker threw the stunned Mirkwood elf a jaunty look before he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

"Are you all right, Legolas?" Anatalia asked her lone companion for the evening, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"In a manner of speaking," he murmured in reply. Legolas took a deep breath and shook his head in mixed dismay and amusement. "He is as subtle as ever."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

HEY GUYS!!!

Sorry for the delay. I've just been working so much but I'm halfway through chapter 32. I finished a very long and very exciting (or at least to me as a writer) Chapter 31. lots of revelations there. Look out for that. Please keep the reviews coming if you can—I know we're all busy but they really are encouraging and make me want to work more, work faster, be better. It also helps give a story more direction, because I get more of a feel of those who read my fics, more understanding. But only if you have time! I know how hard-pressed we all are for it after all :) If it hasn't been obvious already, I'm a real harassed student, haha. I'm studying business in college and having a blast, but it's a whole lot of work. Anyway, 'til the next post!!! Thanks for your valuable time :)


	31. It Only Sleeps

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

31: It Only Sleeps

* * *

The _Amazona___

The Black Sea,

Several Miles off the Shore of Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

* * *

_I've never been looked upon with such distrust and fear_.

The experience was theoretically new, but it felt so hurtfully familiar, so greatly overwhelming and brutally heartbreaking, that Brad figured Boromir of Gondor must be stirring awake within him somewhere, because Brad of L.A. was not quite raised knowing such earth-shattering devastation.

_"You've made mistakes, let's leave it at that," _Legolas had said_, "But these were things you've undoubtedly made up for in a heroic magnitude, in ways that do not question your honor, or diminish your greatness. I do not speak of them because you wouldn't understand, unless you fully remember. Boromir was a good man, a great friend. He gave his life to protect those he loved. No greater feat could be spoken of."_

_I wonder what mistakes those were_…

He sighed heavily, meeting the wide, blue gaze of the Brit who was looking at him with a mixture of fear struggling to hide beneath a fledging calm and an undeniable determination.

"Who are you and what do you want with us?" Finn asked him sternly, "Who sent you? What are you after? These past few days we've had to flee England just to be away from you people and you still managed to find us. Who are you? Why are you pursuing us so relentlessly?"  
"There are bad men after you," Brad said to him, a bit breathless, for the pain in his head and the hammering of Boromir's heart within him was stealing away any decent gulp of air he could take. His position—tied up to a chair by Mark Brandy who claimed he once was a boy scout (before Pip Took joined and got them both kicked out)—was not much help either.

"I am not one of them," he finished, "I'm here to help you."

"You're American," Mark pointed out, "You've their accent. But we've never been to America, we don't know anyone there."

"We go to University," said Sam, "We've never done anything to wrong anybody. We don't have much money. It's unimaginable that anyone would want anything from us."

"If you're not our foe," said Finn, "Who is and what brings you here, in our aid?"

"My name is Brad," he said wearily, "I'm a lab technician from Los Angeles. I don't go around chasing after people—good or bad--, I don't go around…" his eyes drifted to his rumpled tuxedo, "I don't go around wearing things like this on the damn street. I live in an apartment I share with my younger brother, I work regular hours, I have a demanding boss, I have a soft spot for a good _cappuccino_. I've never even been out of the country. And then this guy comes over, he's a detective in the LAPD, and he turns everything upside down and says," he laughs scornfully, "and says that I'm a reincarnated hero and we all have a job to do."

"He's bonkers," Pip whispered to Mark, and Brad looked at him wryly, laughing a bit harder, though humorlessly.

"I know!" he said between gasps, "Isn't it all just out of this world?"

Finn stared at him a long while. "What do we have to do with anything?"

Brad closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. "You read books, right? You watch movies, you like cartoons and comics and things? So tell me, why bother stir a reincarnated hero?"

"If there's a reincarnated bad guy that only the hero can stop," Pip answered, "His nemesis, his archenemy. Like _Demolition __Man_."

"Similarly," said Brad, "If the archenemy knows who can stop him, he'd try to kill the hero, too, right?"

"So what's the point?" Sam asked.

"The bad guy woke up," said Brad with a wince, "In the past, a group of people stopped his evil plans, so now that he's back, he's trying to push through with his misdeeds, and counts killing the heroes that once stopped him as part of the plan. That means killing _you_, the guys who stopped him before, is part of his plan."

"This is ridiculous," snapped Sam, "Let's just go toss him over the water."

"It was hellish getting him here," Pip pointed out, "Let's listen a bit more, it's kind of interesting anyway, I mean, we're heroes!"

"Hellish?" said Mark, "You didn't do a bloody thing!"

"I did too!" retorted Pip, though he did not bother to expound.

"Can you prove it?" Finn asked Brad intently. The young man was not distractible at all…

The American frowned, and closed his eyes in fervent thought. There was no proof, was there? One simply had to know in one's heart, or hang around crazy Legolas long enough for things to start to happen to you and then you have no choice but to believe. But the barriers of the mind were always very strong; it's not possible, life doesn't unfold that way, it's preposterous, it's ridiculous, it's laughable… there was no proof, short of calling to the heart and hoping its will can bridge the gap between what was true and timeless to what was merely presently believable. It was a rather ironic twist that this was a position Legolas once held, and he gave the elf quite a brutal time of it, and now was the responsibility was passed unto him, who did not even know enough about all this just yet.

_Boromir_, he thought, _help me out_…

He racked his brain. He believed, he knew that now. But how can he make others believe him?

He was always told that the longest distance in all the world was the path between one's mind and one's heart. He's managed to bridge it, in the acknowledgement of who he once was. That means the hard part was done. He can do anything now, he can even make them believe or if not, he could at least make them think about it, and let them discover the truths for themselves.

"There is no proof," he said finally, but there was no dejection in his voice. "Keep me tied here, like this. Any perceived foe must after all, be treated with caution and I expect no less from you. Though at the moment I am the one subject to the discomfort, it gives me great relief that any enemy you encounter will be treated with like wariness. Discover the answers yourselves, but I speak the truth and I am confident you will know this… perhaps by this night."  
"What do you mean?" Finn asked.

"Things are moving quickly now," Brad replied, "That is all that I know."

* * *

Docking Bay

Black Sea Coast,

Sinop Area

Mid-2004

* * *

Two black cars were parked near the quiet, empty dock. The winds were whipping, foretelling a rain that was not atypical of the Black Sea coast. The water was rippling and waving and seemed to have a life of its own, tossing about the small vessel that was making its way to shore. But the sailors of the craft were hardy with their shiphandling, leading Aragorn to the conclusion that the handlers were not only local, but likely had the skills practically at birth, for many of the local shipwrights and sailors were sons and grandsons and great-grandsons of the great sea-farers and sea-traders of long ago.

"We're going to ride that _thing_ there," murmured Faramir, who was in the same car as Aragorn, Elladan and Eowyn. The water was visibly choppy, and he was much better on his feet, or upon a horse, or upon a bloody donkey, even, anything but a small boat in the middle of the Black Sea with all its inhospitality and dark history.

Elladan grinned. "You're with an elf, mister. We _know_ the sea, it knows us. I'll take us where we need to go."

"You've sailed much?" Faramir inquired.

"Actually, no," said Elladan, "Some, some time ago. But I've long believed it's _naturally _in the blood."

"Careful you won't accidentally take us as far as Valinor," said Aragorn wryly.

"Don't make me blush with the magnitude of your trust," Elladan chuckled, catching Aragorn's wistful eye.

The _adan_ switched languages, turning to Elvish for the question he truly longed to ask. 'Does the sea not call upon you at all?'

'It is not all that welcoming right now,' Elladan said to him sardonically, and the humor was of course, soothing enough.

As if on cue, lightning and thunder burst through the skies, showing them black clouds and swirls of gray hovering over a sea that did not look much different than the black of the threatening clouds overhead.

"Woo hoo," Elrohir whooped from the other car, which they heard from the comm. links that connected them all, "I really got the better end of this rap, Estel."

"Aren't you at least worried for our safety?" Elladan asked him.

"Nope," Elrohir said simply, "You can handle it, I mean, you share some of _my_ blood after all."

"Bilbo Baggins is on the ground," said Eowyn, looking toward the dock with her binoculars, "The young hobbits are not with him."

Bilbo Baggins and an entourage of two other scholars stepped into a car waiting to take them to the hotel.

"That's our cue," murmured Gandalf, frowning in thought, "And I believe that's also Smeagol and Deagol…"

"Legolas," Elrohir said over the comm. as he maneuvered the car assigned to him, Gandalf and Emmett, "Bilbo is in his car with _Gollum_. They are now on their way to the hotel. We're following them."

"I copy," said Legolas, calm voice not betraying his worry, "Aragorn?"

"The rest of us will begin with commandeering the vessel shortly," replied the _adan_, "It's being manned by…" he squinted his eyes to get a better sight of the craft, but Elladan with his elven eyes beside him said helpfully,

"It's being manned by five locals," he said, "no soldiers, no guards, just a bunch of sailors. Shouldn't be hard. They are presently refueling. We'll let them finish. Wouldn't want that to run out halfway, eh?"

* * *

Hotel Room

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

* * *

"Naturally," said Legolas dryly, watching the blips on the laptop screen. Elrohir, Gandalf and Emmett were indeed on the move back to the hotel.

"Goran?" the Mirkwood elf called over the comm., "Haldir?" Their signals were correctly staying put in the function room downstairs.

"No sign of Wormtongue," Haldir murmured.

Legolas pursed his lips in thought. Of course it was a good thing; maybe Warrington sensibly buried himself in a hole somewhere, at last discouraged and hopefully definitively. But it was also making him nervous, this not-knowing. The possibilities were endless, the fear, the worry, the duty would not ever end until Wormtongue was found, and all threats vanquished.

"At least not in the crowds," Goran pointed out, "The place is well-decked out, Legolas. A small stage in the front, a dancing area surrounded by tables, and oh god-- a fancy buffet. The stage has this cloaked display guarded by eight burly Turks in suits fancier than Harding's. I heard they'll reveal highlights of the excavation at the tail end of Bob Baggins' sppech."

"You can't steal a peek?" Ana asked, "The ring-thing everyone's looking for could be right there."

"Too many people about," said Goran, "we can likely take the guards easy, but we'll make a scene. We'll get kicked out!"

"We can wait awhile," murmured Legolas, "Perhaps when Bilbo speaks, we can learn more of the things he's found."

"ETA to the hotel is three minutes," Elrohir said suddenly, "Liesurely ride so far, my friends. No one's following us, no one's stopping us, not much traffic even. Uneventful." Legolas heard him frown, "_Now_ I'm scared."

"Maybe we're at last getting lucky," said Aragorn with a grunt. Legolas noted the dull sounds of fading hand-combat in his background.

"Keep your head, Estel," the elf advised sardonically.

"It's exactly where it should be," the man said impishly, as he caught his breath.

"My prince," said Elladan, "we've successfully claimed your first bounty of the night. This little vessel is called the _Ino_and was manned by simple men not educated in the arts of fighting. We left them knocked out on the docks. It took but a minute. It was so easy I'm almost ashamed."

Legolas rolled back his eyes, imagining the Rivendell elf giving him a mockery of a bow. It was then that he felt Elladan's lover looking at him, amused. He smiled at her jauntily, unashamed.

"Try not to lose sleep over it, brother," Elrohir retorted dryly.

* * *

The _Ino_

The Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

* * *

Elladan headed straight for the bridge. The controls were, to his vast relief, standard enough. Besides, the _Amazona_ was not so far out to sea that it could not be seen by the naked eye, elvish sight or no. All he had to do was get them there.

Behind him, Aragorn, Eowyn and Faramir looked over his shoulder expectantly.

"Personally I wouldn't mind ending up in Valinor," Aragorn said evenly, his face expressionless. Elladan, however, knew him long enough to recognize the teasing light in his deep silver eyes.

"Yes, well," he said wryly, adroit fingers swiftly moving _exactly_ where they ought to go, "Perhaps when Legolas takes the wheel, eh? Next time."

"Why are you being so obnoxious?" snapped the Mirkwood elf from the comm. Elladan just chuckled at him, quickly spurring the small sea vessel into motion toward the _Amazona_.

"It's called the _Ino_, you say?" Haldir asked over the comm.

"What about it?" asked Legolas.

"Nothing really," Haldir replied, "I believe she's named after the mythical Turkish figure of a woman who repeatedly tried to kill her stepchildren and then ended up to become the goddess of the Sea. After she drowned, that is."

"Good to know," said Elladan wryly.

"Why in the world would anyone name a ship after a drowned woman?" Eowyn muttered, looking out into the turbulent sea.

"Well," replied Haldir wryly, "Why would the gods make an attempted murderess a fellow-god, hm?"

"Life makes little sense," Goran decided, "And the gods will do as they please."

"Hey!" Elrohir pointed out, "Aren't you two supposed to be working? We just arrived at the rotunda. Baggins, Smeagol and Deagol have landed, my friends. Keep those eyes open."

"I have the eyes of a hawk," said Goran simply.

"The last time you said that," said Legolas wistfully, "Things didn't turn out very well for you."

* * *

Hotel Ballroom

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

* * *

_Science_, Haldir reflected as he and Goran sat down to listen to Bob Baggins' speech, _involves a whole lot of selling too_…

The Interpol agent's mind was wide awake, seeing a great host of familiar faces amidst the party crowd—some local scholars, some of international acclaim, some legitimate businessmen, some kingpins in the underground, some men crossed the line between. Any great scientific endeavor needed financing, after all, not just recognition from the intellectual community.

The lights in the ballroom dimmed over their heads, and only small corner lighting over the open bar and the buffet, as well as the emergency exits, were kept on. Bob Baggins was going to give them a show, he was going to show them a vision. He needed their attention, he needed their money. The man understood the intricacies of the industry enough.

A large screen lit up the stage, projecting a video that was a montage of ancient cultures in the Black Sea region. Bob Baggins was standing on the podium on a corner of the stage, looking up at the short introduction.

Photographs of ancient glyphs, scrolls and tablets were shown overlapping with the beautiful shoreline and the wide expanse of sea and lands. An exotic beat was playing in the background, slowly escalating until it came to a resounding stop. The short film ended, and Bob Baggins nodded to himself in satisfaction. The screen dimmed a moment before it apparently switched hardware from a movie projector to a powerpoint projector.

_The Black Sea Expedition of Bob Baggins-- 2004_, the title slide declared, very bold and very ambitious. The speaker had a cordless mouse in his hands to operate the slide show.

"Good evening everybody," Bob began, smiling disarmingly at the hushed crowd. "Well we all know why we're here," he sighed heavily, "I'm supposed to show you what I've done with your money, so I could maybe get some more."

Some laughter.

"This project began with quite some wanderlusting, I suppose," he said, after his audience once again quieted, "I grew up a bright-eyed lad from Oxford. Simple place, beautiful, unlike any other. But it's these blasted Hollywood films, these crazy books that could make many a man's heart race, his head spin… What is real? What is true? Have I no part to play in this fantastical compass of history? Am I ever to be remembered similarly? In the future, would others wonder about me?

"My mum said I was crazy," he chuckled, continuing, "Bless her heart but she did not quite see what it was the past had to do with the future. As a matter of fact, not only did she deem my field useless, she considered playing around with a bunch of old rocks as even _inimical_ to any future. 'Bob,' she would say and I can still hear her weary, overburdened mother's sigh, 'There is no money to be made there.'"

Bob Baggins winked at the crowd, saying, "If she only knew I'd find fellow crazy-folk like you, eh?"

Once again, some laughter.

"We all here make up a roomful of dreamers," Bob declared, "It is not only in seeking the past that we learn of all these stories of the brothers that came before us… It's a tried and tested old tenet, that those who do not know their history are dommed to repeat it, of course. But more than that… to not know from where it was that we came and therefore to not know where it is that we now stand in the grand history of the world, in the great expanse of time… is to not know where we are headed, or how to get there.

"I am a man of vision," Bob said proudly, "And my destiny is mine. I wish to see the road behind me and before me, or even just the barest outlines of it, that I may walk deliberately toward my own future."

He paused as his speech was met with appreciative applause.

"And so tonight," he continued, "Tonight I thank all of you for traversing this path with me. We began in the dark, like a heart powered by dreams even though our eyes were closed in sleep. You shared with me your light, and together, we found the secret roads. So to you, our sponsors, and my mentors," he smiled at the Malcolm cousins seated in honorary places on the stage behind him, "And to all our fellow-dreamers out in the rest of the world, little towns big with vision and wonder… here are a few more outlines in our world's grand history, to guide our road…"

Thus he began a litany of the expedition's most notable achievements, using the slide show as a visual guide.

The first discoveries were rocks that they dated as being over 2 billion years old.

"Two billion," Baggins marveled, "If only they could talk. What stories these rocks could tell…"

The rocks were older than the Grand Canyon, he pointed out, and about half the age of the Earth. Its age was tested through the radiometric technique.

"If only they could talk," he said again, sighing.

Baggins showed them arms, pottery and jewelry from Ancient Rome, Egypt, Greece, the Middle and Far East, all dating around the time of the Byzantium, in 400 A.D. to the Middle Ages. He explained the mix of cultures and timelines by sighting what Haldir explained to Goran, Legolas and Brad some hours earlier that incredibly lengthy day: ancient multi-cultural hub, storms, earthquakes… it was not altogether strange to find a crazy mix and match of things together.

The jewelry, of course, caught the attention of Haldir and Goran, and many of the indulgent, wealthy aficionados in the audience.

Bangles with hieroglyphs and intricate carvings, a circlet for the head, masks, necklaces of gold and silver encrusted with precious stones… it was made to be a feast for the eyes, but Haldir only found he must be in the middle of a nightmare—which were they looking for, then? Which of these could be the Ring's reincarnation?

"Is that one for sale?" a wealthy matron asked, pointing to one of the breathtaking treats.

"It will cost you a medium-sized country, ma'am," smiled Bob Baggins indulgently, and she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips at him as the crowd chuckled. She might have been considering which country to divest herself of…

"Legolas?" Haldir murmured over the comm..

"Yes?" replied the Mirkwood elf.

"We're looking at over a hundred pieces of jewelry here," Haldir said, "With no discernable history or association with legends of evil. We do not know who owned them, if they are cursed, if they hold wickedness, if they are powerful… It could be anything and nothing at this point."

"Nothing of note at all?" Legolas asked, and Haldir could hear his frown.

"Egyptian designs with an eye," Haldir said with a wince, "But we cannot immediately deem this as a representation of Sauron. The artifacts are not nearly old enough, and these inscriptions are plastered on a whole lot of Egyptian art— It could just be the eye of Ra…"

"That is all that he has shown?" Legolas asked.

"Wait, there is one more," Goran hushed them.

"What you have just seen," Bob Baggins said gravely, "Is the very least of what the Black Sea has to offer us, my dear friends. We picked up a strange artifact that we cannot quite… explain. Yet."

Haldir's heart was pounding. _This could be it_…

"Does anyone know what this is?" Bob asked, and the slide featured the symbol of an _ankh_. It resembled a 'T' topped with an inverted teardrop. "You'll get a prize," the nautical archaeologist laughed, and the woman wanting to buy the jewelry from before raised her hand.

"If you get it right, madam," said Bob, "I am obliged to say that the prize will not be any of the beautiful things I've just shown. But I can give you a day inside our expedition boat."

The crowd cheered, and the woman smirked at Bob Baggins.

"It's an _ankh_," she said, "It's Egyptian. It symbolizes life."

Bob Baggins frowned in thought. "Very fair answer ma'am. You will get your tour."

The audience applauded.

"The _ankh_ is indeed best associated with classical Egypt," Bob Baggins said, "this knowledge should be common enough. It is widespread in their art. You might also know this as the _Crux Ansata_, or the 'eyed' cross in Christian iconography. It is widely-recognized to mean life, yes. But it has other meanings too… would you believe me if I said the _ankh_ has a sexual symbolism by virtue of it resembling a sandal strap? It also resembles the knot of Isis. It's also once represented the womb. It also has symbolized the union of Isis and Osiris…

"But the most fascinating thing to me," said Bob, "is that scholars have long believed that though this symbol is prevalent in Egyptian art, it stems from an older, unknown culture. You see it's like in Persia, India, America, Sardinia… It's a combination or development of the t-shaped cross—a _tau_-- which symbolizes death, attached to the sign of re-birth. So the _ankh_, in its wide range of meanings, not just indicates life; it specifically symbolizes life after death. Because it is often held by the gods in the manner of one holding a key, you can say it is they Key between Life and Death."

"Legolas," murmured Goran over the comm., "You told me something about all this Ring-identification thing as ultimately being a question of how it feels, right?"

"Yes," the elf replied tentatively.

"I'm feeling really, really bad," grumbled the hacker.

"Bob Baggins found the Key to Life and Death," Haldir informed Legolas, "Bringing back to life and toward immortality, one who has died."

The Interpol agent heard the Mirkwood elf sigh. "It is there?"  
"I think so," Goran answered.

"As I said, scholars have long theorized the _ankh_ stems from an older, unknown culture than Ancient Egypt," Bob Baggins said gravely, "I believe we found proof of that."

The slide showed a picture of a gleaming, silver _ankh_ that was three-quarters of the way well-preserved, missing but half of the top loop. Words were insrcibed all over it in a script that none of the scholars in the room could read… but the Interpol agent, an ex-elf learned in the oldest cultures of Middle-Earth, could read it clearly enough, for it was in an ancient Elvish that he knew only too well…

Haldir took a deep, shaky breath, and Goran looked at him with furrowed brows.

_The darkness dies not, it only sleeps…_

"Oh for god's sake, just tell me what it says!" the hacker grumbled at him.

"Legolas," Haldir said over the comm., "I believe Sauron had a… uh… _contingency plan_," he decided, for lack of a better term, "Something that could resurrect him even in defeat. The script is in ancient Elvish, but the language is the very dark of Mordor. This ankh says: 'The darkness dies not, it only sleeps.'"

"Stunning isn't it?" Bob Baggins breathed, before Legolas or any of the New Fellowship who heard the information could reply, "How do we know it is not Egyptian, you might ask. The script is different, for one. It is of a kind no one has ever seen before. And the material… it glows far too greatly for silver, does it not? As if it has a light within. It is of an element that is new and also never been seen on Earth in recorded history. Until now."

The crowd oohed and ahhed. Only Haldir knew Bob Baggins was talking about _mithril_.

"The element is so strange," Bob Baggins continued, "That we cannot even date this. No technique of ours could tell how old this is. It is also so… invulnerable, in our tests. It is just so stable that I suspect it will take quite an impossible effort to destroy it."

"But it looks broken," someone pointed out.

"'Tis not broken," Bob Baggins said evenly, "It was unfinished, it seems. The lines are smooth and gradual, but this material cannot be melted because of its strength, and if it was indeed broken or snapped, the years could not have tempered the edges at the points where it broke because we found this in the anoxic layer of the Black Sea, where nothing decays. And so we have concluded that the work is unfinished. As if a master artist was interrupted, or halted. The craftsmanship is exquisite, is it not? It likely would have taken a making of more than just one go. Beautiful. But aside from its barest beauty that any common eye could see… for us as a race it means much more. This _ankh_ symbolizes another great culture, older than any we have ever seen, but already with art, and language, and writing… An ancient, advanced civilaztion we are yet to discover."

He stepped away from the podium, and toward the covered display which Goran had seen earlier. The room collectively held their breaths. It was almost as if an alien spaceship landed in the room. There was suddenly a presence so old and potent. There was like _a new civilization_ in the room, the possibilities were so great and magnificent!

Bob Baggins gripped the edges of the cloth.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he decalrared, as slowly the crowds rose from their seats in anticipation, "The Black Sea _Ankh_."

Bob Baggins pulled at the cloth to reveal the glass display.

It was very glaringly empty.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Long chapter eh, and some revelations. I tried to keep it basic and fun. I hope it worked. Thanks loads for the c&c's and keep them coming if you can. Am now really really working part-way through chapter 33 :) I hope you had fun :) See you when I post chapter 32 for a whole lot of damage control, haha :) 'TIL THEN!!!


	32. Lies

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

32: Lies

* * *

Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

* * *

"Haldir, speak to me," Legolas said nervously, hearing the background noise of commotion from the ballroom, "Haldir. What is happening?"

"It is gone," the Interpol Agent said breathlessly, "Someone took it. The _Ankh_ is gone."

* * *

Exterior of the Hotel,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

The Istari was biting his lip in thought and nervousness, and Elrohir and Emmett were watching him expectantly from the rearview mirror of the car.

"Mithrandir," Elrohir asked, "What shall we do now?"

_To find it_, the wizard thought achingly_, only to lose it so quickly and so suddenly_…

"We must leave the premises," Gandalf declared, "They will lockdown this hotel-- that _Ankh_ could fetch several billions of pounds, aside from the historical significance. We must not be stuck in there, in the middle of a crazy investigation, for we need to be out here, on the field. We have to trace every single place that display crossed, all the hands upon which it was passed. We must leave."

* * *

The Hotel Ballroom,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

They started locking down the hotel.

The Baggins group was making panicked, frustrated demands upon the local security and investigators on the stage. Haldir watched them carefully, wishing he still had his elven ears that he may hear them, even from afar.

The security people were waving their hands at Baggins and company in calming motions, and ushered them to a table to sit. The room was alive with murmurs and wild theories, and the open bar was being crowded, as others fought to dull the tension that was suddenly stifling the space.

"Goran," said Haldir, "I need a distraction."

"Yeah?" the hacker asked, "What's on your mind?"

"You want to know what they are talking about, don't you?" the Interpol agent asked, nodding to Baggins and the security people surrounding him.

"Of course," Goran replied.

"So I'm going to need a distraction," Haldir said simply.

"You two," Legolas said over the comm., "Nothing troublesome, for the love of the Valar."

* * *

Haldir discreetly removed his slim comm. link and slipped it in between a folded cloth table napkin. He and Goran rose from their seats and approached Baggins' table, ignoring the archaeologist completely and focusing on the local head of security that he was talking to.

"Sir," Goran grumbled, "I am a very busy fellow and I do not appreciate being bogged down in this place."

Jimmy Goran was mighty-looking and had a gruff voice and a very potent presence. He was not going to be ignored, and he was not going to be easily dismissed.

"Sir, please, if you would just sit down," the security man said, "This situation will be resolved in the quickest possible way."

"But I have a plane to catch!" Goran demanded, slamming his fist upon the table and shaking it. Eyes flew to his hand and then his scrunched, angry face. Harding used the moment to slip the table napkin with the comm. link inside upon the table, discreetly, right on top.

"Calm down, sir," the security man said more threateningly, "You do not want to spend time here, I understand that. But you will like it even less in handcuffs, am I correct?"

"Come," Haldir said to Goran coolly, grasping him by the shoulders, "I'm sure they will do their best."

"Your insensitivity is scandalous too," Dean Malcolm told the hacker darkly, "This is our life's work. You can stand to wait awhile, _sir_. We've waited for a discovery this great for all of our lives. This finding is as important for mankind as a whole, yes, but this is the entirety of our own lives as well."

"We apologize," Haldir said quickly, pulling Goran with him, away from that table and toward their own, "We sincerely hope you find it."

It was of course, a big lie.

* * *

The _Ino_

The Black Sea

* * *

They were just settling into the _Ino_ for the half-hour ride when the news broke. The group of Aragorn, Elladan, Eowyn and Faramir listened closely to the ongoing conversation from the shore of Sinop. There was little else to do, after all, until they anchored next to the _Amazona_.

Because all their comm. links were networked, they could all hear whatever it was anyone who had the link was saying. And so when the makeshift 'bug' was planted on the table of Bob Baggins and the security, the group could hear too all that was being said on that table. The reception, however, was not quite smooth; the link was hidden in cloth, for one, and it was not at all near to the speakers' mouths. But the conversation was clear enough to be understood, and for that, they were relieved.

"They are locking down the hotel and conducting a search," Legolas said, and they all heard the wince in his otherwise even voice, "And will be combing it top to bottom, room to room. Person to person."

"Isn't that illegal?" asked Eowyn.

"It's a whole lot of liability if they lost it too," Elrohir pointed out.

"Goran," said Legolas, "They are going to search all of you in there soon. Tell Haldir to lose _all_ the hardware. Dump it."

"You have to clear the room as well," Aragorn said to Legolas.

"If they find the remaining weapons and the gear in the room they might suspect us," Legolas agreed, "Besides, I have to be in a place where I can freely work. I do indeed must relocate. All our communication links will be out until I find another place."

"We have cellphones," Elrohir pointed out, "Not quite as good, but effective enough. We passed by a motel down the street from there, _mellon-nin_. A bit seedy but it will do the job. Get out of there."

* * *

The Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

"How are we going to get out of the hotel?" Ana asked, "They are locking us down after all."

Legolas nodded to the window. "_I'm_ going. You're not following."

"You're out of your mind," she declared, shaking her head, "And the rains are starting."

"It has to be done," Legolas said simply, "And I'm sure I must have done something like it before."

They fell silent a long while, all of them in the group. They listened as the investigators took the testimonies of Bob Baggins and the Malcolms; they dictated their security system, all their checks and balances, all the names of those who handled the display, all the stops they made, all the guards, all those involved in the expedition.

"Legolas?" inquired Gandalf, "You are recording this?"

"Yes," Legolas said to him, "Mithrandir, perhaps your team could meet me at this motel Elrohir speaks of. Your charges are fixed and safe in the hotel for the night. But we must consider our next steps carefully."

* * *

The Hotel Ballroom,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Goran and Harding commandeered a cubicle in the washroom as they hurriedly divested themselves of their weapons.

"Wipe it down," Haldir said softly, knowing that the weapons would eventually be found if the search was accurate enough, and that it must not be traced back to them.

The Interpol agent coolly used his handkerchief to wipe at every single space, even the bullets inside the gun which they touched to slip inside. Artfully, he dislodged the cover of the tissue dispenser, threw all the paper in the trash, and hid their weapons inside it. It was a tight fit, but he was insistent.

"Why don't we just make use of the bloody trash can?" Goran asked.

"That will be one of the first places they'll look," Haldir said, stuffing all the weapons in the dispenser with a flourish. "Perfect."

Goran placed a hand to the comm. link by his ear. "Legolas," said the hacker, "Harding and I are going to sign off now. Any last words?"

"Stay out of trouble," the elf advised wryly, "As soon as you deem your work done, we shall all meet back in the room. Call for any problems, we all have our mobiles with us."

"You too, elf," the hacker grumbled, before giving Haldir the comm. link. The Interpol agent adroitly slipped it on.

"Watch your back, Legolas," Haldir said to him and the group, "Good luck to all the rest of you as well."

The Interpol agent was just removing the comm. link when his ears caught a curious string of Turkish from the table conversation of Bob Baggins with the security people. Baggins was continuing speaking of their security measures when the anxious rambling was interrupted by a local who was apparently, a subordinate of the head of security.

"Legolas?" Haldir said urgently, "One last thing. That Turkish you just heard? They are going to begin checking the rooms one by one beginning at this very moment. Get out of there now."

"Soon," the elf promised, "They are not yet done with the names and places. I'm recording. I will get out in time, nothing to worry about."

Haldir sighed, tearing the link from his ears and hiding it with the rest of the weapons.

* * *

The _Ino_,

The Black Sea

* * *

By the time they dropped anchor next to the _Amazona_, the rain was pouring like a curtain of static all around them, and the winds were whipping marvelously. The barge towered over the tiny _Ino_, and looked as if it was defying the waves, the winds, the rain, the _gods_…

_It looks like a tall, imposing gate standing mightily over a dark wasteland_, Elladan reflected, _It looks too bloody famailiar to me_, and he genuinely wondered what kind of ill lot was it for one life to be subject to the same blasted horror twice…

Eowyn stepped out of the bridge, boldly facing the rain. The others stayed inside, Faramir watching her with a stern expression on his face coupled with inalienable trust in all of her considerable abilities.

The watchman of the _Amazona_ looked down on her from the decks above, tens of feet up over her head. He focused a powerful flashlight on her face, and asked her something in Turkish.

"Can you speak in English?" she asked him, raising her voice over the din of the stormy ocean.

The watchman glanced at the small vessel's markings, and his brows rose in recognition of the _Ino_.

"Why do you blasted Leucothea bastards keep changing staff?" the watchman asked irritably, "It's driving me crazy. I.D., woman. Who the hell are you this time?"

Eowyn's brows furrowed in confusion. "I am a student of the professor. Did they not inform you I would be by?"  
"I received no word," he said, perplexed.

"The professor forgot an important document in his quarters," she said, feigning urgency, "They are awaiting its retrieval. I am a student of his. The speech already began, I must have it and deliver it to them quickly. It's called…" she quickly made something up, "A Dissertation on the Ancient Cultures of the Black Sea Coast of the Middle-Ages. Volume… 39.11. The purple one. It is just atop his desk, in his quarters."

"I don't know what that is," he said testily. Eowyn suspected he was understandably irked over getting the admittedly terrible assignment of being the watchman during the harsh rains. "I'm not surporised I got no word. The storm fucks up everything out here. You go on up and get it."

"Can't you?" she asked plaintively, "I'd really rather you just tossed it my way so that I may return to the coast more quickly. It's the purple one, you can't miss it."

"Well I don't know what that is," he snapped, "and I'm not screwing around the proffesor's cabin, he's an exacting boss. You want to save time, lady, you go on up and get it yourself." He threw a rope ladder over the side of the ship, booking no arguments. Even a beautiful, intelligent woman could do nothing to salvage the night and his miserable work…

"Fine," she told him frostily, although in truth she expected the invite and was glad for it. She gripped the thick ropes and hauled herself up along the ladder.

"Some help," she told him as she reached the railing and was manuevering her legs over them. The watchman encased her in his arms to pull her up, and she used the opportunity to look about the deck if anyone else was about. The rains were a bit lucky after all, for it seemed the crew seeked warmth and shelter inside the barge, rather than hanging about on the deck. She smiled to herself as he lowered her to the ground and stepped away from her, watching her face carefully. He was quickly beginning to change his opinion of her, and making his night a bit better, it seemed… She wisely used his distraction to punch him and knock him to the ground, unconscious.

Eowyn grabbed his flashlight and looked over the rail at her friends. She grinned at them jauntily and waved them to come over.

Faramir, naturally, took the ladder first and embraced her as he levered himself up to the deck.

"Women are so deceptively disarming," he murmured in her ear, making her laugh.

"Ah, yes, well," she said, "You really shouldn't be surprised anymore."

* * *

The Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Lighting and thunder and harsh, pouring rain.

Anatalia glanced out the window worriedly, before once again busying herself with her admittedly meager task—packing up all the weaponry for Legolas to bear away with him. She was too anxious; she did not fancy the idea of the stormy weather and her beloved out at sea, aside from the other dangers he faced. And she was never one to stay out on the fringes of activity, yet she also knew in a case as this she was powerless to help them in any other way. Lastly, she did not fancy her newfound friends thus breaking into a multitude of smaller groups or, in the case of herself and Legolas, into individuals. The situation was dangerous enough without having to deal with it alone. Nevertheless, there was certainly no way out of the hotel short of jumping out a second-story window, and _that_ she knew she couldn't do.

"I'm signing out now," Legolas said into the comm., "Be careful everybody."

He rapped at the keyboard, and the active buzzing Anatalia could hear from her comm. link ceased at once. She removed it and pocketed it. Legolas took his own link off, and removed the wires attached to the phone lines and the socket. His deft hands began to hurriedly pack up the laptop and all its trappings in a leather case.

Ana finished her packing with a flourish, and she watched Legolas nervously. "You're sure you can jump the bloody window? It's going to be some kind of a tragicomedy if you fall on your ass, or your back, and you break something, and you have all this technology and arms with you, and you'll absolutely look like a crook who tried to attempt a really very poorly-planned escape."

He smiled a bit as he continued to pack the laptop. "Don't worry. I'll try my best not to subject myself to that grave embarrassment. Have you not been told I have this fantastical pride?"  
"No," she said, "But I've seen it myself."

He chuckled, and she knew he was trying to appease her somewhat. But he undid the small relaxation he gave her a breath before when his head shot up suddenly.

"A bunch of footsteps coming down the hall," he said to her gravely, and he started moving faster.

Anatalia's eyes widened a fraction, before she defied the winds and pushed open the windows. She waved him over hurriedly, and he zipped up the laptop case and slung its straps over his shoulder as he walked toward her. She handed him the bag of weapons.

"We're just a call away," he reminded her as he took them and slipped on those straps as well.

"I know," she said with an assuring smile. "Be safe and I will see you all later."

A rap on the door made her jump a little.

"Go," she said to Legolas in a low voice. He lithely levered himself up to the sill, crouching on the narrow ledge on all fours, like a graceful cat contemplating the force of a jump. And then he simply let go.

She watched him soar into the air, and then land quietly and smoothly on the ground below. He looked up at her and tossed her an almost careless wave before jogging away into the night, into the rain.

She was very, very much alone now…

Another rap on the door. She pulled the windows closed and realized she was now soaking wet with the rain and hadn't even noticed. The knocking was becoming impatient, and so she hurriedly stripped off her clothes and donned a robe, before pulling the door open and apologizing for taking so long because she was in the shower.

It was, in a sense, kind of true.

* * *

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

The _Amazona_ was being run by a skeleton crew this night, numbering a fair twenty-five people. Given Bob Baggins' speech-event, and the fact that the Expedition was drawing to a close, the past few days have seen not as much activity as the past few months, and many of the _Amazona_'s men and women took advantage of their much-deserved shore leaves, especially at night. The Black Sea coast, with its strings of clubs and eating places, was distinctly alive, especially after the sun had set and presented a constant temptation from the still life inside the barge.

Though far less than what they could have encountered, twenty-five was still rather considerable, made up of innocent people doing honest work. They were not mercenaries, and would therefore not hesitate to call on the coast guard if they were threatened. Being in the middle of the sea, Aragorn and co. likely wouldn't have much of an escape route if this happened. And it was in this way that Aragorn and Faramir decided that a subtler approach to infiltration was more appropriate. There would be no hiding, and no open arms outside of the watchman they knocked out earlier.

Aragorn, Faramir, Elladan and Eowyn walked from the deck, down to the hallways within the _Amazona_. They studied the schematics Legolas acquired from them earlier in the night, and knew precisely where to go—knowing hobbits, they could only be in their living quarters, the rec room, or in the case of Pip Took, likely the mess hall (to temporarily appease the insatiable hunger), or him with Mark Brandy in the brig (to keep them out of trouble).

The four walked casually down the hall, and smiled coolly upon a passing crew member. He asked them something in Turkish.

"English please," Faramir said to him, "We're tourists."

"Who the hell are you?" the crewman demanded, the words heavy with his accent.

"Oh," said Elladan pleasantly, "It's these rains. We were cruising around in our yacht when the bloody weather turned on us. The watchman said the captain ok'd for us to hang around, get warm and dry. Maybe some food…"

"The weather can be pretty shitty sometimes," the crewman agreed, "I will walk you to the mess hall. This ship is large, you might get lost. You won't find the best food, and there's not very many lefgt especially since proper dinner hours are over. But if you are hungry, it is our only fare."

The four glanced at each other, seemed to be caught on the spot.

"We'd love that," Elladan said, "Thank you."

* * *

The Mess Hall

The _Amazona_

The Black Sea

* * *

The Mess Hall was in the typical, lunch-line cafeteria style. As the crewman said, the proper dinnertime was over, and there was no one in the large room save for a lonely server. The crewman who ushered them to the room said something to the server in their native Turkish, before turning back to the four.

"Adnan will take care of you," he said, "I will leave you here, I must get to work. Do not forget to pass by the bridge when the weather clears and you must leave. Bid farewell and thanks to the captain."

"Of course," Aragorn said, "Thank you for your help."

The crewman walked away, and the server set up four plastic plates and filled them with all that was left of the strange mushy things that they fed their people. The food was no longer warm, and it looked profoundly unappetizing. But the group of four accepted the food in gratitude and indulged their host.

"Enjoy food," the server Andan said to them with a wince of a smile, before returning to the back of the counter to begin cleaning up. Aragorn narrowed his eyes as the young server curiously set up two more plates of food and placed cling-wrap over it carefully.

_Could it be_, he mused, _that Andan is expecting a pair of young men seeking a second dinner…_?

Elladan's head whipped toward Aragorn, and he lowered his voice when he said, "Your prey draws near."

Aragorn's brows furrowed, as the double doors of the mess hall opened up and in burst Pip Took and Mark Brandy.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Thanks for the c&c's… I was kind of afraid the speech part with Bilbo would bore you guys, and I was scared you'd totally lose interest there and especially since the vital information on this new 'Ring' was integrated into the speech. Well, anyway, THANKS LOADS AND LOADS AND LOADS for your time. I've finished chapter 33 and am working on 34 now. Things are really speeding up and the chapters are somehow getting longer and longer on their own! Like, I can't seem to end them until about eight or nine pages through. That's kind of long for a chapter from me. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy, things will be speeding up plot-wise, though not necessarily post-wise because I'm just getting busier and busier. I need to have this fic finished in a month if I want to be disciplined and regular with my posting (I try not to make you guys wait too long), because I'm jetting out of the country and can't work on this where I'm going.

Anyway, I usually get what I want when I work for it, so I'll likely finish. Because I'm obsessive compulsive, I'm aiming to end at a 'round' feeling kind of number so maybe this will be done by Chapter 40.

Chapter 33 is going to be pretty crazy, and it's going to ask you to play detective along with ol' Detective Leland Greene. Pay attention to the details, and I hope it won't come across as confusing. Actually it's meant to be, because we're all trying to solve a mystery (who stole it? who dunnit?) but I hope the answers will be clear enough.

Well. 'Til the next post!!! :)


	33. Whodunit

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

33: Whodunit

* * *

A Motel,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

The very breath he closed the door behind him, Legolas scrambled to reassemble all of his equipment. He was soaking wet with the rain, but it bothered him little, for his mind was certainly occupied elsewhere.

The elf was a born multi-tasker, and as his right hand worked to put together the wires of the laptop, his left hand grabbed the cellphone from inside his coat pocket and speed-dialed Elrohir's number. The Rivendell elf answered at half the first ring with an urgent, inquisitive _Mellon-nin_?

"Where are you?" Legolas asked.

"A block away from there," Elrohir replied dryly, "You're rather impatient, my prince."

Legolas refrained from replying for a moment, as the screen of the laptop was activated and once again showed the blips representing the locations of his friends all over Turkey.

"I'm getting us back on line," Legolas said, "I can see you. Comm. links should be up and running momentarily. I'm in the motel now."

"Good," replied Elrohir, "We'll be there in a few, _mellon-nin_."

"Fourth floor, room 11," Legolas said, "I will see you momentarily."  
Legolas ended the call, and minimized the map of Sinop that showed all the locations of himself, Anatalia, Elrohir, Gandalf and Emmett. He also minimized the schematics of the _Amazona_ that showed him where Aragorn, Eowyn, Faramir and Elladan were, just as he did the schematics of the hotel that showed him the unmoving locations of the comm. links Haldir and Goran disposed of. He focused on reviewing the recorded conversation of Bob Baggins with the head of local security.

This Black Sea Expedition was a very big operation headed by Professor Bob Baggins, with mentors Dean and Sean Malcolm as consultants. A team of 32 very intelligent, very eager students from all over the world were part of the expedition as their practicum. The _Amazona_, their home barge, was manned by a crew of 70 men and women, including sailors and cooks and maintenance people. They had an in-house medical staff of ten. They had a crew of 30 operating the big machinery like cranes to haul up their finds. They had another crew of 25 specializing in specialized robotics, for they used probing machines to look for great finds beneath the once seemingly impossible depths of the sea, where humans could not go.

Security was handled by three local firms: the Kemal, Leucothea and Trebizond Agencies. Kemal Security handled the workings aboard the _Amazona_-- they were basically there to ensure no one got sticky fingers.

Leucothea handled the docking bay security and also owned the _Ino_, the ferry ship that staff, crew and artifacts used to get from the barge to the shoreline of Sinop and back. They were there to ensure no artifacts got out of the _Amazona_ without authorization, and no one got to the _Ino_ (and consequently, the _Amazona_, since it is the only vessel authorized to ship people and things to and from the barge) without the proper passes.

The last firm, Trebizond, handled security in the mainland; the artifacts had to be taken to the display areas safely and securely, guarded when they were there, and then taken back to the docks to return to the _Amazona_, or to the airport or some museum or university elsewhere.

In sum, Kemal handled Ship Security while Leucothea handled Docking and Ferrying (justly so, for Leucothea was the new name given to _Ino_ when she became the goddess of the sea) and Trebizond handled all land transfers and security.

The rationale was simple; the three firms were all held accountable by location (easier to track and hold responsible), and perhaps more importantly, since they were not of the same companies, the idea was that it would be harder for them to conspire toward thievery.

_"So professor," the local investigator said, "Take me through the entire process of getting the display here."_

_"I locked the case myself," Baggins said, "Aboard the _Amazona

_"The three of us, together," Sean Malcolm piped in, "We all saw it, and then covered it up with the cloth."_

_"For a suspenseful element," added Dean._

_"Around what time was this?" asked the investigator._

_"Around four or five in the afternoon," replied Baggins, "We were all rushing, because we were running late. The visuals for the speech were crashed in my computer, eaten up by some sudden virus, so we needed to make last minute repairs. And when we were drawing up one of the probots—these machines that probe the bottom of the sea for us—the lines got tangled and the clouds foretold rain so we had to hurry, lest we risk damaging our multi-million dollar equipment. Then we had to get formally dressed too for this party, and the investors and sponsors were coming so we couldn't be late… The ship was a madhouse, and this is a terrible, terrible day."_

_"So you left the display with whom, as you attended to all these other things?" asked the investigator._

_"A Security team from the Kemal agency," replied Baggins, "They take care of the guard as long as the territory is inside the _Amazona_. That is their jurisdiction, you remember I said this to you earlier?"  
"So men from the Kemal Agency were guarding it," said the investigator, "And then?"_

_"Dressing up and fixing all the technical problems was taking a lot longer than we hoped," said Baggins, "And the clouds looked really bad. We were advised to go ashore at the earliest possible time; there is, after all, a reason why the __Black Sea__ holds many wrecks in her bosom. The storms are legendary and fierce. We feared the loss of the Ankh in case of a disaster, so it was sent ahead to Sinop, before the rains started and the winds whipped at the sea."_

_"I escorted it," said Dean Malcolm, "Myself, along with a team from Leucothea Security, crossed the sea in the _Ino_, and then docked in Sinop without incident. The display was turned over to the __Trebizond__ team and I went with them to bring it here, to the hotel. And then I left the display in their charge to go back and help with the problems aboard the _Amazona

_"Along this entire road," said the investigator, "the cover was never removed, never opened?"_

_"Never," said Malcolm, "That is the principle of a secret find until it is revealed after all."_

_"After we took care of all the problems in the barge," said Baggins, "We all rode the _Ino_ together to the shore in Sinop, then to a car here in the hotel. And then… all the rest of it, you surely know."_

Legolas glanced up at the knocking on the door. He rose from the desk and opened it without even looking at the new arrivals, knowing it would be Elrohir, Emmett and Gandalf.

"Legolas, you're soaking wet," Elrohir pointed out, "There's bound to be a towel in the washroom, go use it."

"I couldn't catch my death of cold even if I tried, _mellon-nin_," said Legolas flippantly, "And even if I could, I wouldn't put that towel against my skin to save my life. I wouldn't even _touch_ the bloody bed. You did say the place was seedy, didn't you?"

Elrohir shook his head at him in amusement.

"Elrohir," said Legolas, "Would you kindly test if all the comms are back on-line? I must see to this _Ankh_ matter."

"What do we know?" Gandalf inquired of Legolas, as Elrohir asked everyone to report in on their comm. to ensure it was in proper working order.

"Eowyn, over," they heard in the background.

"The display passed by too many hands," said Legolas to the wizard, wincing, "Three local security agencies. The Kemal agency while aboard the ship, The Leucothea Agency while crossing the sea, and The Trebizond Agency while on land."

"Elladan, over."

"There is this fantastic gap from when the Ankh was last seen to when it was revealed as vanished," said Legolas.

"Faramir, over."

"The last time it was seen was at four or five this afternoon," continued the Mirkwood elf, "And the loss was known at approximately nine in the evening, when the display was revealed."

And then Aragorn's voice, saying, "We are looking at Merry and Pippin right now."

Gandalf's head shot up, torn from the conversation he and Legolas were having. "Indeed?"

"In the mess hall," came Eowyn's endeared voice, "Eating as if there was no disaster hovering over their heads at all."

"Sam and Frodo?" Legolas inquired, "Boromir?"

"Not just yet," said Aragorn, "But most certainly here somewhere. What of this Ankh?"

"We have a five hour gap in which the theft could have been committed," said Legolas, "Anytime between four in the afternoon to nine at night."

"Maybe only 'til eight at night," said Emmett, "Might even be 'til just seven at night. That display was sitting there on that stage when the guests arrived. Goran was talking about it being guarded by eight men. Someone would have seen a thief trying to sneak onto the stage."

"Indeed," murmured Legolas appreciatively, "A three or four hour gap then. And this is almost certainly an inside job. The display was never left unattended."

"Suspects?" Gandalf asked.

"Dean Malcolm escorted it on sea and all the way to the hotel, he was the one constant amongst all the changing security hands," said Legolas, "But if he is indeed the culprit, he had accomplices because he was never left alone with the display. Ever. He could have taken it while aboard the _Ino_, which makes the Leucothea Security men as his accomplices. Or he could have taken it on the way to the hotel, and then the Trebizond Security men would have been his accomplices. Or if Dean Malcolm isn't guilty, then it must be the Trebizond men, because he ultimately left the display with them when he went back to the barge."

"Who _isn't_ a suspect?" asked Aragorn wryly.

"Well Bilbo," replied Legolas, "when he was last in the presence of the Ankh, he was with a whole bunch of other people, and I'm sure witnesses can testify he's not been near that display until his speech. The same is the case for Sean Malcolm."

"Yet you do not trust him," Gandalf said, reading the elf-prince's face.

"I've not been…" Legolas said uncertainly, "I've not been such a believer in the power of changing for the better as of late. You understand. This is the creature _Gollum_, still, somewhere within."

"So we're looking at Dean Malcolm, Leucothea and Trebizond as suspects then," said Emmett, frowning, "Where do we go from here?"

"We're going to check at who was on shift within our time frame," said Legolas, "And then we're going to give them a bit of a visit."

"Wait one moment," Eowyn said, suddenly, "I have a thought but I cannot quite…" she sounded nervous, as if she was on the verge of something that could truly be an epiphany but could not quite grasp it, "You say that the men we… _put down_ at the docks are supposed to be the Leucothea Security men, right? Because Leucothea is in charge of the dock security and the _Ino_?"

"Yes," replied Legolas.

"So they are supposed to be trained, theoretically," she continued, "But we managed to put them down so easily, didn't we? They were sailors, not fighters. And… and the watchman, when we broke into the _Amazona_. He said something to me that sounded funny. He said something like, why did Leucothea keep changing staff. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"It seems," Legolas murmured, "It seems the Leucothea Security men are not suspects at all. Perhaps… perhaps even victims."

Emmett looked at him thoughtfully. "What do you mean?"

"Indulge me," said Legolas, "I'm trying to find a way around this heist, if I was the thief. Pretend I'm Dean Malcolm. I bug the computer and sabotage the lines of the probots to keep Baggins and co. occupied. I volunteer to bring the Ankh ashore, accompanied by Leucothea security. But it's a trap. I get the Trebizond men to ambush the Leucothea men when we dock, maybe toss the bodies over the sea. I take the Ankh, and Trebizond heads to the hotel with an empty display. I hire local sailors—not hard to find along the shore of Sinop—to take me back to the _Amazona_, and then take myself, Bilbo and Smeagol back to Sinop for the evening's affair later as well. That's why the watchman asked why Leucothea kept changing staff—he encountered a different team when Dean Malcolm left, a different team when Dean Malcolm returned, and then a different team when he saw Eowyn. That's also why you folk encountered sailors while trying to accost the _Ino_, rather than the Security men who were supposed to be there instead."

"So we end up with Trebizond and Dean Malcolm," said Emmett.

"And we end up with the Ankh being either in Dean Malcolm's person--" said Elrohir, "Unlikely since he would surely expect to be searched—hidden inside the _Amazona_, hidden inside the _Ino_, or hidden somewhere along the road from the docks to the hotel."

"That's a whole bunch of places," muttered Legolas.

"But all this also means one thing," Gandalf said softly, "All the suspects—Dean Malcolm and the Trebizond guards—are inside the Hotel Ballroom."

* * *

The Hotel Ballroom

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Jimmy Goran was anxiously wringing his wrists. They've already been searched and of course, the security folk discovered nothing suspicious on their persons. But he hated being out of the information loop—he was a hacker, knowledge and revelation was a grave calling he could never deny. But since he and Harding rid themselves of their comms, he had absolutely no idea what was happening to the other teams, or what Baggins was telling the security people.

"Relax," Haldir told him coolly, sliding a half-empty glass of brandy to him. Goran's glass was emptied long ago.

"I can't," muttered Goran, downing the remaining contents of Haldir's glass in a gulp, "I hate not-knowing."

Haldir glanced all around them; Goran wasn't the only one bothered by this, of course. Naturally, he himself was, but he's learned to handle the waiting better. But folk unused to the lulls before the storms, as most of the people in the ballroom was, gave the air a bit of an electrifying, contagious nervousness that was bound to implode in a space that was seemingly shrinking little by little.

_The delectable open bar_, he reflected wryly, _Will be out of contents in no time at all…_

Some of the people in the room were worried—they surely had other places to go, children to look after, work to do, et cetera. The more paranoid ones were anxious about being wrongly accused. The curious folk somehow managed to find each other and share wild theories, while the more adventurous ones sat back, ate their food, and happily awaited the unfolding of events, pleased to be a part of something so 'big.'

The neighbors of Haldir and Goran, sitting on the table nearest to them, belonged to a mix of all these categories. One of them had a video camera, and he was playing back the revelation of the theft over and over in his LCD. He was speaking in Turkish, and he kept insisting that perhaps if they all just looked close enough, they'd see who took the Ankh. The companions who looked over his shoulder said he was filled with bull crap. So he changed his tack and said that, all right, maybe not the theft itself, but if they all looked close enough, watched all the reactions, they'd see who looks guilty or nervous.

Haldir shook his head in amusement, and turned his attention to the stage, where the display case was being dusted for prints. He was torn from his observations by his ringing cellphone.

"Haldir?" It was Legolas.

"What's wrong?" the ex-elf asked the other at once.

"You recall the eight burly Turks guarding that case?" Legolas asked him.

"Yes," the Interpol agent replied, "What of them?"

"Did you have a good look at them?" inquired Legolas, "Such that you can spot them in a crowd?"

"I'm not certain," Haldir replied, "Why?"

"Are they there?" Legolas asked, "Can you see where they are?"

"I did not have that good of a look," Haldir said, turning to Goran and asking in a low voice, "Gimli, the eight Turks guarding the display. Can you see them?"

The hacker looked about, and his brows furrowed and shook his head. He did not know what was happening and fervently desired to know, but he bided his time.

"It seems…" Haldir murmured, "It seems that they've vanished without a trace."

"They would be questioned first, I reckon," said Goran, "Maybe they are being interrogated somewhere. Why?"

"But there was not very many security here earlier in the night, other than themselves remember?" Haldir pointed out, "They'd have first secured all the exits to ensure that any thief couldn't get out. They'd have had the run of the place." Haldir looked around him anxiously. "Legolas…? What of them?"

"We've lost our suspects then," the elf breathed from the other end of the line, "Our suspects for now are Dean Malcolm and those men. Perhaps they took the opportunity to escape when they closed everyone else in that hotel."

Haldir's eyes drifted to the local from earlier, the man with the video camera who was rapidly loosing the attention of his audience.

"Do you need photographs, Legolas?" Haldir asked.

"If you have them, that would help," replied the elf, "I can try to hack into the Trebizond Security files but that is of course Jimmy Goran's forte, and these older firms might not even have an electronic database updated in real-time for names of employees and shifts and locations."

"I will secure your photographs," Haldir said, "I will call you back." Haldir ended the call and turned to the local from earlier, asking to borrow the video camera and view the event in Turkish. 'Your theories intrigue me,' Haldir lied.

The man, as expected, yielded the video camera and spoke at length about his theories. Haldir decided not to listen. He rewound the tape to early in the evening, and found the footage of the eight security men guarding the display.

_Now to get this to Legolas_…

Goran, ever the digeratti, handed him his cellphone. Like the latest models, it was equipped with a handy camera that enabled the sending of photographs as MMS, rather than the plain-text SMS. Haldir suppressed a smile as he aimed the lens toward the video camera's LCD…

But the local abruptly wrenched the video camera from his hands, saying, 'What are you doing?'

Haldir wracked his brain for a decent reply. 'I am sending the photos to my editor. I am with the Press.'

'I'm selling this to CNN, C-SPAN, NBC, FOX…' said the local man, 'You are not getting anything for free.'

Haldir frowned at him. Of course, he and Gimli could always toss the stubborn man out on his ass. But such an act was more trouble than it was worth, these days. These days, you could get arrested, and sued, even if the stubborn lout you socked desperately deserved it…

Goran stared at the Interpol agent, awaiting a signal, likely thinking along the same lines. But Haldir, as always, had something else in mind.

"He wants to sell the footage to the big news companies," said Haldir, "I believe we both know someone with a big, bad press card."

"And a bigger checking account," Goran said with a glint in his eye, grabbing his cellphone from Harding's hand and calling for Anatalia Craxi.

* * *

It was out of a bit of vindictiveness that Jimmy Goran, always the master of second-story work, palmed the invitation from the local man's coat pocket. He supposed he wanted the feeling of having taken _something_ from the man, after having been so denied the video they needed.

Anatalia Craxi was smartly dressed in her dark traveling suit made evening/formal-ready by glinting diamond jewelry and a clever chignon in, Haldir noted, eight minutes flat.

The Interpol agent and the hacker met her at the main doors, and though the pair was ready with their stolen invitation, the security men who were manning the entrance let her inside, not even asking for one.

_The woman_, Haldir mused, _must have been born with blue blood and a bratty, unquestionable streak that made itself known at will_.

She passed by the security folk with barely a glance of acknowledgement, and breathed relief only when she was inside.

"So where's my video man?" she asked.

"You know," said Goran, suddenly uncertain, "You don't actually have to buy the thing. We just have to make a show out of buying it so that we could have it. Give him a check, write out as much as you want, and then get me in front of my computer later, give me two minutes, and he'll never get that money. You ah, can even have some of his own if you want."

"Oh but I do believe in paying for extraordinary news footage," Ana said, "I'll give him the going rate, and then the reel goes to Craxi Multimedia after we use it. We'll make millions. I'm a practical woman."

* * *

A Motel

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

"Oh for the love of the Valar," they heard Elladan mutter over the comm., just as Legolas' phone received a series of MMS's from Jimmy Goran.

"What's wrong?" Legolas asked the Rivendell elf, his heart pumping in anxiety. He hated to be thus so cut off from the danger his friends were in, and they were literally a sea away.

"Oh nothing," Elladan muttered, "Was it too hard to ask her to stay still? What is she doing in there with them?"

The Mirkwood elf frowned, unsure of what the other was talking about. Because the rest of the _Amazona_ team remained silent, and Elladan was referring to a very pointed, helplessly frustrated _she_, Legolas decided it was more a personal matter.

The Mirkwood elf reached for his cellphone and viewed the files from Goran. The reception was not quite crystal clear, but it was certainly clear enough. He uploaded the photographs of the eight Trebizond Security men from his phone and into the computer with another one of Jimmy Goran's fancy cords, and showed the pictures to Elrohir, Gandalf and Emmett.

"'Dan," asked Elrohir, "What were you talking about?"

"The man who took all the shots of the suspects wasn't willing to lend it to Haldir and Gimli," said Elladan, "So Craxi Multimedia, represented by my stubborn Ana, went and bought it on the spot. They sent me a courtesy heads-up. A bloody photograph of the three of them smiling jauntily at me—are they not apologetic at all?"

"I'm sure she'll be safe, _mellon-nin_," Legolas said easily. He dialed Haldir's number. "I've received your message, thank you."

"It will be of help?" Haldir asked.

"Yes, very," Legolas affirmed, "Ana's still there?"

"Yes," Haldir answered, and Legolas imagined him wincing by the tone in his voice, "We can't get her to leave. She said she's here already and so she really might as well stay."

Legolas frowned in… well, envy. Soon enough, Gandalf, Elrohir and Emmett will be away, searching for the fugitive guards. And he'd remain in this seedy little room, alone and out of the action again.

"Just try and keep each other alive," he sighed, ending the call.

"Send the photos to my mobile," Emmett murmured, looking over his shoulder at the eight men featured on the screen.

"Accomplices in a theft as great as this," said Elrohir, "They'll likely be on the way to the airport, if they are not there already. They'd take the first flight out. _Any_ flight out. I certainly would."

"Perhaps the rains will delay any travel," Gandalf said, "We must get there at once."

The wizard gave Legolas an assuring pat on the back, just before he led the way out the door.

* * *

The Mess Hall,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

They watched the two hobbits dine discreetly. It was a bit fanciful, seeing them so tall and lanky, and young and as sprightly as always. Save for the height, and the clothes, very few things changed of Merry and Pippin. They surely charmed Andan into extra servings, and amused each other with jokes of all sorts that reverberated in the quiet dining hall.

Once in awhile, the pair glanced up at the only other party in the room, and gave them cautious smiles and nods of acknowledgement. It was, Elladan reflected, rather surreal. As surreal as when he saw Legolas in a Los Angeles hotel drinking fancy coffee. As surreal as shaking hands with Estel ages after his much-mourned passing. As surreal as Mithrandir in a squad car. As surreal as a Boromir alive and walking, as surreal as Eowyn and Faramir finding each other across generations and across shores, or Haldir of Lothlorien once again alive except for the fact that he was human, or Gimli the dwarf now being the tallest amongst all of them…

His mind was reeling. The 'normal' life he's led over the centuries seemed so distant, even as he knew it was only days ago. Things have changed, were changing still, and he found himself wondering who he will be tomorrow.

"'Ey!" Pip Took greeted them with a wave, making his voice louder as he and Mark Brandy were seated in the other end of the room.

_Shall I reply 'Yo?'_ Elladan thought wryly, _Or was that the norm way back in the early 90's?_

"'Ey," Aragorn said more hesitantly, ill-at-ease with the street language/_lingo_.

"Who are you?" Pip asked, munching on his food.

"We're stranded," Eowyn lied.

"The rains are that bad?" Mark inquired.

"It's a nightmare outside," Eowyn said, "The Captain was kind enough to let us stay awhile."

"We're kind of stranded too," Pip said.

"You are not sailors?" Faramir felt compelled to inquire, though he of course knew the answer.

Pip snorted a laugh. "No. Eh, Mark. Remember that only time we wore uniforms like that was for the jig with that YMCA bit for that program?"

"That was a bloody nightmare," Mark muttered, "One I would not only rather not share with people we do not know, I want to forget about it completely."

"We had a bit of a laugh about it," Pip said, suddenly wistful, "I kind of miss school."

"Well I would too," Mark said wryly, "If I saw as little of it as you, eh?"

"Clever lad, are you?" Pip said impishly, not bothering to deny.

The familiarity of the laughter was making Aragorn smile, warming him all over, strengthening his heart. He knew then, that things will never get so bad, as long as they are all together.

* * *

The Deck,

The _Amazona,_

The Black Sea

* * *

Things of course, oft got worse before they got better.

The roaring of the ship's maintenance and operations facilities would have drowned out the sound of the approaching craft, if the whipping storm winds and the waves they've invoked did not. The pilots of the three heavy-duty helicopters were a bunch of mavericks, and handily maneuvered the craft to land on the helipad of the massive _Amazona_ despite the murderous weather. The team in the mess hall below decks couldn't have heard it, or if they did, the sound was dulled and mutated, and they likely wouldn't have recognized it anyway.

Grissom Warrington stepped down from the craft, flanked by a security force that was armed to the teeth and numbered in the 30's. No watchman met them immediately (for a reason that only Eowyn and company knew), and Warrington frowned in displeasure.

They waited a breath, and he ordered his pilots to settle down awhile, made sure they secured the crafts on the ship. He expected the pick-up to be fast and efficient, but absolutely _no one_ was entertaining him.

A minute or two later, an officer garbed in a rain coat stepped toward them, asking, "May I help you?"

"I am expected by Professor Malcolm," Warrington replied coolly, "Where is he?"

"He's not returned from the hotel, sir," said the officer, "I'm going to need some identification, please. You cannot be here without the requisite passes."

"I am expected—" Warrington said again, only to be cut off by the officer.

"I must ask you to leave," the man said, "You cannot be here without the—"

Warrington drew out a gun from beneath his coat and shot the man right then and there. The storms barely permitted a recognizable sound, not even the thud of the lifeless body upon the deck.

"Clean it up," Warrington told his men, as he grabbed his cellphone in irritation, saying to the man on the other end of the line, "Where the bloody hell are you with my goddamn prize?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Thanks so much for the c&c's…

I warned you it was a crazy chapter, didn't I? :) I hope I didn't drive you just as crazy. I worked real hard on this the past few days, because I wanted to post it in the soonest possible time— I don't want to keep you guys waiting too long (since I hate waiting myself, haha). I know I don't respond to reviews but I DO READ THEM and because I have so little time, I figured you'd want me to get on with the fic first and quick-posting is, in my own way, a BIG MASSIVE THANK YOU to all you guys. But I will put up all the responses at the end of the fic, which is nearing day by day :)

I also wanted to say a big, bad HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! to my super wonderful reviewers Mischa Kitsune and Starlit Jewel. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!!!

THAQNK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to all who read and all who reviewed. I know we all have so little time and I truly appreciate it that you spend some of it with me and my fic.

So… chapter 34 will see Legolas coming to some pretty stubborn decisions, as well as some action for Elrohir. Expect everything and everyone to begin to converge into the _Amazona_… 'TIL THEN!!!!


	34. Lightning and Thunder

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

34: Lightning and Thunder

* * *

The Motel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Lightning and thunder.

Not so strange, this stormy night they seemed to just light up the skies. But that last one, it was too close, and the lights over Legolas' head flickered. The laptop before him, having stored some power in its batteries, was not bothered at all. But if the lights went out… he won't have very long on them at all; it was so blasted simple and yet he now found he and Goran likely did not find the time earlier to charge it.

He winced in dismay; the laptop was his only window to the world that moved along without him. It showed him where his friends were, it kept the communication links on line, yes, but best of all, it kept him from turning insane with worry and restlessness too.

The idea somehow became funny to him, after a long moment of quiet. The dependence on technology was for now a regretful consequence of having lived with them for quite some time, he supposed. It was conceptually acceptable; he was always very practical and they did for him what he needed. Such things aided in crime-fighting, in business, in communications, in crazy quests such as the very one going on this night. He supposed it was just… _funny_ in the sense that not too long ago (ages seemed like days now that the years have once again brought him and old friends back together), they managed to save the world with swords and spears and fists and arrows, and the fates somehow coordinated their efforts such that they all ended up where they were needed, even without proper communication.

He chuckled a bit at the tragicomedy. If they had comm. links or cellphones back out in old Middle-Earth… he's pretty sure he'd have gotten some pretty crazy phone calls.

_Legolas? This is Gandalf. I'm not dead, don't anyone mourn, I'll see you soon…_

_Legolas? Samwise. Frodo refuses to toss the Ring!_

_Legolas? Aragorn here. I'm alive, not to worry, I'll just be a little bit late…_

_In that old world_, Legolas reflected, _friends parted and then stepped out into the dark unknown, never knowing if they will ever see each other again. In this new one, I can see where they went, hear what they said, know precisely what things they faced, if they still lived--_

Lightning and thunder.

Not so strange, this stormy night they seemed to just light up the skies. But this last one, this was too close as well, and the lights over Legolas' head flickered once again.

_-- provided the electricity held, of course_, he thought wryly.

Well it was of no matter, he decided. He could trust that his friends will _go where they must and do what they ought_. Then as now, as Elrohir pointed out, he's once stood on a shore and folded his hands, let them go. He could trust them, and he could trust the gods and the fates that they wouldn't be so cruel as to punish those whose hearts were good and spirits valiant. He can and must believe that at the end of all things, it is the good that will be left and triumphant. If not… then one might as well be dead than live in a world of evil and in this sense, they all win anyway, in both triumph and defeat…

Lightning and thunder, and the lights over Legolas' head flickered once again.

_But of course_, he thought determinedly, _Similarly, they have to trust me too, to do what I have to_…

He was not at full strength yet, that he knew. He was not fool enough not to know. He didn't want to be a bloody handicap they'd all be distracted just looking after, and so it was that he allowed the others to force him into sitting back and out of the action. Besides, in all truth, all this running around was exhausting him, and there remained within his body a deep weariness, likely still some lingering fever that admittedly made the stormy night colder than a normal elf should find. But he was of some use to them yet, even without the computers and the comm. links. If he felt the need to come to their aid, if the lights shut down on the only thing he could help them with…

_I will go where I must and do what I ought_.

Lightning and thunder, and the lights over Legolas' head flickered once again.

* * *

The Mess Hall,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

It was almost regretful to watch them polish off their plates, for it meant it was time for them to leave.

But no one was going to let them go quite so easily. As Mark and Pip rose from their seats, Elladan, Aragorn, Eowyn and Faramir wordlessly gathered their feet as well, and looked at each other inquisitively, surprised. The hobbits looked their way in suspicion.

"I thought perhaps to use the ladies'," Eowyn said first.

"I thought so as well!" Faramir said, wincing as he added, "Except, of course, not the ladies.'"

Aragorn frowned at them both, beat to the plan. But he simply narrowed his eyes and nodded his head in acceptance, sitting back down beside Elladan.

"Perhaps you'd know the way?" Eowyn inquired of the hobbits.

"Oh, yeah, sure," said Mark, "We'll walk you to the john."

She walked apace with the young man, and he was a bit taller than herself, making her smile. "My name is Eowyn."

"Mark Brandy," he said, "That one there is Pip."

"I'm Faramir," said the other man, "Her husband."

"A shame, really," Pip sighed melodramatically, "You could have been just my type."

She laughed, and tossed her husband a mischievous look, "You never stood a chance. But I'm not married in this life, not yet."

"Are you saying I'd better get to it quickly?" he asked her blandly, wanting to get a rise out of her because it was so easy, and because it was so endearing.

"You believe in reincarnation?" asked Pip, frowning a bit since the conversation with the guy they tied up downstairs was coincidentally along the same lines.

"I believe," she said, "I believe in finding a part of yourself in somebody else, all across years, all across lives and deaths. Call it reincarnation, if you like. I like to call it… just as it is. Lives brought together, whether for the first time or the nth time."

"No wonder he's not married you yet," said Pip, "You sound like an insane person."

* * *

"Well they're off," sighed Aragorn, watching Merry, Pippin, Eowyn and Faramir walk away, melodious laughter echoing behind them.

"It's really just as well," said Elladan, "They've formed quite the bond ages ago, and 'tis more disarming to deal with less folk."

"Yes, but," said Aragorn dryly, "Quite a shame, for a seasoned warrior like yourself and myself to have been beaten to the plan by that two."

"I don't mind losing to stubborn women," said Elladan wistfully.

"I know," chuckled Aragorn, before focusing on Legolas with the comm., "Legolas? How fares everyone else?"

"Gandalf, Elrohir and Eomer are on their way to the airport," came the quick reply, "And Anatalia, Haldir and Goran are likely drunk and dancing by now."

"You're saying that just to annoy me," Elladan said flatly.

"But you're not annoyed, are you?" Legolas pointed out primly, "I'm telling you she is in no conceivable danger in there."

"Just so," breathed Elladan, smiling a bit, "I heard Elrohir theorize that the Ankh could still be in here."

"Yes," replied Legolas, "In the _Amazona_, in the _Ino_, or the ways between the docks and the hotel. In short, it could be anywhere at all. The culprits, thankfully, are far less hard to track. We are hoping for their _cooperation_, in this search."

Elladan smirked at that. "You've sent Elrohir, Gandalf and Eomer of Rohan to get them? I have no doubt you will get as you hope for."

* * *

The Airport,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Depending on the kind of man that you were, there was two ways of looking at the situation they managed to find themselves in. Elrohir supposed he could look at it thus: they were lucky that storms kicked in and the flights were canceled and therefore they managed to catch up to their prey. But then again if he was truly lucky, he wouldn't be in the shitty situation at all, now would he?

He was always one to look upon life through the eyes of hope. He and Elladan have long given Estel grief over being a mad optimist, but then again he knew too that he and his twin must have had something or other to do with the _adan's_ optimism too; after all, he and his twin in a way helped rear him. Estel was just unfortunate that there was two of Elladan and Elrohir and just one of him, so it was very easy to gang up on him and jauntily blame him for the straits they got into in their younger years.

Either way, Elrohir found himself smirking at the rain outside. He could see the winds stirring the outdoors from the wide glass window of the airport lobby. He knew he was as glad for the rain as his agitated prey was cursing it to the high heavens.

As they figured, the eight fugitive bodyguards from Trebizond Security were indeed in the airport, awaiting a flight that was canceled for the storm. They wore more discreet clothing, and stood separately, pretending not to know each other. But the pictures from Haldir and Goran were clear enough, and if one looked closely, it wasn't so very hard to spot them. Elrohir, Mithrandir and Emmett Rigare found them easily enough.

The Istari flanked an exit, while Emmett lorded over another, in case they decided to leave the premises. Elrohir held the middle-ground, sitting amidst the culprits in the waiting area. He could feel them quake, and their desire to run. He could see how they looked around them and over their shoulders, as if they were being followed or watched (which they were). He could see them tossing each other nervous glances, wondering when their safe passage will come, when they will be free, wondering if the police was already onto them and perhaps the plane won't leave in time and they'd all best simply run away from there and hide out into the shadows of Sinop…

One of the security men abruptly rose to his feet, and then hurriedly walked to the washroom. Elrohir waited a breath, before following suit. They only needed one man to break the silence and speak of where they hid the Ankh, only one. _That_ could be the one…

The Rivendell elf stepped into the men's room, busied himself in front of the mirror and washed his hands, ran them through his rain-drizzled hair. The Trebizond man was washing his face nervously beside him, and there was no one else in the room but the two of them.

"You all right?" Elrohir asked the pale-faced, burly local. Of course he wasn't; he was guilty of a rather terrible crime, and his plane was not going to be leaving the ground anytime soon…

The Turkish man looked up at him, irritable. "What's it to you?"

"You look a bit off, that's all," said Elrohir quickly.

"My goddamn flight is late," growled the other, before snatching a paper towel and wiping his hands upon them. Elrohir smiled to himself when the man snatched another piece and put it over his face.

The Rivendell elf, of course, optimistic _and_ opportunistic, took advantage. He caught the man with a disorienting punch to the face, dashed to the washroom door and locked it, and then caught his disoriented prey in a secure headlock.

The burly Security man, however, was strong and well-trained. Large booted foot slamming on your instep was no flighty matter, even for an elf. Elrohir's grip loosened, and the Trebizond man used the chance to headbutt his attacker.

Elrohir staggered backward, and was still regaining his balance and attempting to lose the stars in his eyes when the Trebizond man tackled him, sending him slamming against the wall.

Weapons, the elf mused, was always far simpler. But then airport security made _everything_ justly much more complicated such that he, Mithrandir and Emmett left their weapons in the car. But what did he think earlier just this night? He was never one to look upon the sour in favor of the sweet—and so he did not regard himself unlucky that he was without arms. He was lucky that the other man was equally unarmed. He was also lucky he had the strength and stamina of an elf, ages and ages of a warrior's experience over his foe, and not to mention the inalienable _estel_ of a mad fool.

The Trebizond fellow stepped back to strike at him, but Elrohir sidestepped cleanly and the fist meant for his face rammed against the wall. The man let out an angry, pained cry, and Elrohir did not give him a breath to even contemplate the fact that he's just made a rather definitive mistake; the elf was a staunchly determined fighter, and he will get all that he desired.

The Rivendell elf kicked at the back of the man's knees, almost coolly, almost cruelly efficiently, sending him to the ground. Elrohir viciously wrested the man's arms, held them tightly behind the man's back, and pushed his face and body against the wall.

"You're going to tell me everything that I want to hear," the elf told him coolly."

"Fuck you," the man retorted, along with a string of some rather foul-sounding things in his own tongue, very likely expletives.

The Rivendell elf was easy eough to get along with. Life was almost like… water running down his back. He liked laughing, he enjoyed kidding around. But there were times when games were not meant to be played. All the ages he's seen, and all the noble of his blood was artlessly plied upon the sound of his warning.

"I promise you will not want me to have to force you."

* * *

The Hotel Ballroom,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Haldir's phone was ringing and he grabbed it from his coat pocket, coolly saying, "Harding."

"_Mellon-nin_," said Elrohir, "We found our suspects."

"Indeed?" said the ex-elf, brows raising in surprise.

"All the Trebizond men who's supposed to be guarding the Ankh are in the airport," said Elrohir, "All flights out have been canceled for the storms. I uh… I got one to talk. He says Dean Malcolm made arrangements with them, but they don't know where the Ankh is. I'm not… quite sure what to do with this fellow, I figured, well, I might as well leave him to Interpol."

"I will call upon my contacts and make the proper arrangements," said Haldir, "Tell me what happened."

"Dean Malcolm collaborated with the eight men to steal the Ankh," said Elrohir, "He volunteered to bring the Ankh ashore ahead of Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm, that he may be alone with it. He then had the security men from another agency who weren't in on the heist killed and tossed over the water. The man I interrogated said Dean Malcolm took the Ankh with him and hid it either in the _Ino_ or in the _Amazona_—he wouldn't be a fool enough to keep it in his person and bring it there because he logically expected to be searched after the discovery of the theft. He also of course refused to leave it with anybody else. It also couldn't be anywhere else in Turkey because I was told that after Dean Malcolm took the Ankh, the only places he went were the _Ino_ and the _Amazona_, for he did not accompany the empty display to the hotel. The man I interrogated also said that Dean Malcolm was in it with somebody else, someone he kept talking to on the phone. He doesn't know who it is, but Malcolm and this other person will be meeting tonight."

"Good," said Haldir, "Perhaps this case will soon be closed. Dean Malcolm is still here and all the other conspirators are in your sights."

"Indeed," breathed Elrohir, "Perhaps this night will end soon, and relatively peacefully. I left the Trebizoned man I _talked _to in the washroom. Your colleagues uh… likely won't have such a hard time finding him. Last stall, I locked it up."

"What in all of Arda did you do?" asked the ex-elf wryly.

"Nothing he didn't have coming," came the prim reply, "He'll live, my friend. He just won't be very pretty for a little while. _Mellon-nin_, I will speak to you later. I must go."

"Go where?" asked Haldir.

"I updated Legolas some minutes ago," said Elrohir, "Mithrandir, Eomer and I will be following to the _Amazona_. Keep your eye fixed upon Dean Malcolm. Let the line run long, we want to see who is his partner. We will be in the _Amazona _for the barge is big, and the search must begin soon or we must at least be near it. We will be backing up Aragorn, Eowyn, Faramir and my delinquent brother."

"Be safe," Haldir said, ending the call. He looked up at Dean Malcolm to find him on talking to someone on his cell, commandeering a corner of the room.

"Well?" Goran asked beside him, and the Interpol agent glanced at the expectant faces of the hacker and the heiress beside him.

"They have the conspirators," said Haldir, "And we have Dean Malcolm. This could end soon."

"No violence," breathed Ana, "Relatively peacefully… I know I'm supposed to be relieved but I'm suddenly afraid."

"Now you're learning," Haldir said jauntily.

* * *

Below Decks,

The _Amazona_

* * *

"Here you are," Pip announced, motioning for the comfort rooms.

"You folk can get back to the mess hall on your own?" Mark asked.

"Yes, yes of course," Eowyn said with a gracious smile, "Thank you very much." She stretched out her hand to Pip, "It was nice to meet you."

The young man shook her hand, and then Mark took over and a curious look dawned upon him as they touched. She watched his face expectantly.

Mark took a careful breath, suddenly feeling strangely… exhilarated for one reason or other. He blinked twice and released her, looking upon her searchingly before Pip slapped at his back.

"Her bloke's right in front of you, man," he said in a loud whisper, "And he's bigger than the two of us put together!"  
"I wasn't…" Mark said haltingly, before he smiled at Eowyn and Faramir, "Yes, well. See you folk around then."

The two young Brits waited for Eowyn and Faramir to step into the washrooms before they walked down the hall, toward Frodo and Sam's quarters where they kept their prisoner.

Eowyn was doing her own waiting too, from inside the washroom, she pressed her ear to the door and waited for their footsteps to dim somewhat into the near distance, before she stepped outside. She grinned at Faramir, who stepped out of the other room at the very same instant, having thought of the same plan.

"You saw his face?" Eowyn asked her husband in a low voice as they began to discreetly trail behind the two hobbits.

"You will wake him, Shieldmaiden," Faramir said gravely, and though his voice was flat and his face remained serious, his eyes gleamed with a joke as he added, "Let's just hope he doesn't mistake it for love at first sight, eh?"

* * *

Finn Baggins and Sam Granger's Quarters

The _Amazona_

* * *

The agitated Sam Granger was giving the pair of them a blasted headache as he paced back and forth and back and forth…

"Sam stop that," sighed Finn, glancing at their captive in shared misery.

"Of course I'm nervous, why shouldn't I be?" said the other, "We've just kidnapped and tied up a man, Finn. And people are after us for… for a bunch of reasons I don't even want to think about!" he frowned at Brad, "And I'm not even going to contemplate what you just said, mister."

Brad shrugged as much as he was able, as skillfully tied up as he was. "I'd feel the same way."

"You said something," said Finn, "Something about this night."  
"Things are coming to a head now," said Brad, "I know you can feel it." He nodded toward Sam, "He most certainly can."

"We just want you to tell us the truth," Sam said to Brad, "All right? No more BS, just say it straight out, nothing crazy anymore. We can't see what anyone could possibly want from us. See, we're plain old college folk, we don't even have girlfriends! Life is that much plain! And then suddenly, people are after us in England, asking around, scouting our place, searching our things… even tried to snatch up Finn and myself until Pip and Mark came along. And the cops wouldn't believe us! So we left. And then here you are, saying you're not with those men-- whoever they are—and saying you're here to help us, saying we're not who we think we are… The hell, man. Just say it straight out."

"That's the problem," Brad said to him with wounded eyes, "I'm being absolutely truthful and it sounds crazy and the craziest thing about it is that it's all true."

Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath before setting his gaze on Finn. "The cops back at home refused to believe us because we had no proof, we didn't even get a good look at the faces. But now we have one of _them_. They'll help us out now."

"I'm not one of _them_," said Brad, "Please, I'm not. We were friends, long ago. I'd have willingly died for you. If you just give me a chance, I still will."

Finn stared at him a long, quiet moment. "You touch something in me," the young man said at last, "Though I'm not entirely sure what it is. Or maybe this entire situation's turned me as crazy as you."

"I'd think so!" retorted Sam.

"Let us say," said Finn evenly, "_Theoretically_, that I believe…"

"Oh please, Finn, don't," said Sam.

"People are after us for some reason, Sam," said Finn, "The entire situation is insane and one more crazy story certainly won't hurt," he winced, "Considering we have time on our hands yet and we really have nothing else to do here but listen and talk to each other." He turned to Brad, "All right, mister? Say I believe you, we've all lived once before, we all once were friends tasked to defeat a great foe. Who am I? Who are you? What parts did we play and what does it all have to do with today?"

The story of the Ring in a nutshell was by now very well-known to him, after having spent time with Legolas and company. Sam was frowning at him, and Finn looked intently, as if struggling to understand, perhaps remember. He knew for certain that a single telling wasn't enough, awakening was needed too and such epiphanies came at their own time. He himself was yet to remember, and was favored only by brushes of Boromir's strange memories.

_Those eyes…_

_That look…_

_Their distrust…_

"In the old days it was the Ring," said Brad, "And we figured if all the players are in the here and now, perhaps an artifact of some sort akin to the Ring must also be back. Does this sound in the least bit familiar to you? An artifact of some sort, something your uncle could have unearthed."

"The expedition unearthed many," said Finn thoughtfully, "The best one is on display tonight. It's an ankh."

He was a medical technician, of course he knew what that was. He's studied dead bodies in university, had an elective in pre-med school regarding the ancient arts of preservation and old medicine. It was the symbol of life after death.

"That about sounds sinister enough," Brad muttered, and though he knew there were many in existence, having found that ankh here was sending fear through him.

"It's on display?" asked Brad.

"Yes," Finn replied.

"Then it should be safe enough," Brad concluded, although for some reason, he wasn't all that sure.

* * *

Below Decks,

The _Amazona_

* * *

Mark and Pip turned a corner, and down the long hall they can see a bunch of unfamiliar, black-clad, rain-wet men coming down the same hall from the other end.

"Hey," Pip called out to them, "You're all stranded too?"

Eowyn and Faramir frowned, hearing the young Brit calling out to some strangers they were yet to see since they haven't turned the corner yet. The pair new that Gandalf, Elrohir and Eomer were following, but not this quickly.

"You can say that," came a familiar, sly voice.

Eowyn's breath caught as she recognized Grima Wormtongue. She grabbed Faramir's arm and rushed to turn the corner, crying, "Merry, Pippin! Run!"

Mark Brandy and Pip Took turned at the sound of her voice.

"What?" Pip asked, looking at her and then at the men on the other end of the hall, coming toward them with quickened steps. He felt Mark take him by the arm and pull him down the hall, toward Eowyn and Faramir.

* * *

A Motel

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

"Legolas? Aragorn?" they heard Faramir's breathless call over the comm. links, "Wormtongue is in the _Amazona_. Wormtongue is in the _Amazona_."

Legolas hurriedly set his eyes upon the dots that represented Eowyn and Faramir. They were moving down the lower decks of the _Amazona_, apparently at a mad run.

Lightning and thunder, and they were not so strange this stormy night, and that one came too close like the others before it, and the lights over his head flickered once again.

But this time, they died all together, and he was not quite surprised this had to be the exact moment when the electricity went down. He had a few minutes of laptop power left, to his relief.

"The lights are out," the Mirkwood elf announced, "We won't have very long on the comm. links. Did you see their full strength?"

"About thirty men or so," Faramir said breathlessly, "Armed to the teeth. They're right behind us. Merry and Pip are running with Eowyn and myself. Wormtongue and his troupe have not fired on our backs just yet. I suspect they want us alive."

Legolas thought quickly. "Ask the hobbits where Sam and Frodo are. Wherever they are, lead your pursuers away from there. Elladan and Aragorn will go that way and aid them. Gandalf, Elrohir and Eomer are on their way with a commandeered vessel. Get all the hobbits on that boat and spirit them away from the _Amazona._"

"And the rest of us?" Faramir asked.

"That Ankh is in there somewhere," said Legolas, "It must either be found, or must be kept from the hands of Wormtongue. Since none of us know where it is, but we all know where Wormtongue is, then we can only do the latter, and get the young ones out of harm."

"Understood," said Faramir.

Legolas took a deep, shaky breath, as his LCD flashed with a warning—the batteries were almost out. His window to their world was quickly closing.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Thanks for your time reading a reviewing. Chapter 35 will have everything bursting at the seams, haha :) keep the reading and reviewing coming if you can. 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!! :)


	35. Blackout

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

35: Blackout

* * *

The Hotel Ballroom,

Sinop, Turkey,

Mid-2004

* * *

_Blackout_.

"Blast," Goran muttered as the lights faded over their heads with a dying whir. There was a bit of a collective, surprised gasp in the room and truly, if one was not used to a life of chaos, a night of conspiracy, theft and darkness must be rather scary indeed.

"Generators should kick in in a few moments," Haldir said evenly, "The hotel's at least a three-star, it shouldn't be a problem."

"How long will they keep us here, you think?" Ana asked.

"I doubt anyone truly knows what to do," said Haldir, "We've all been searched, as have all the rooms and bags and things. People are getting restless and though they wish to cooperate, impatience and resulting dissent is growing and this is fed by the fact that most of us know we allow their searching more by our grace than because we are forced by the hand of law. It shouldn't be long."

"You don't sound all that pleased about it," Ana noticed.

"I like having Baggins and the Malcolms confined to a space," Haldir replied, "When they leave here they will likely go to the _Amazona_, out in the middle of a raging sea, where it will be harder of us to keep track of them."

"Well in that sense," said Goran, "We will be relieved of our duties. The others certainly have the barge in their charge."

"I do not like sitting around and waiting," Haldir said, "It makes me nervous."

Goran smirked a bit. "Well imagine what ol' Legolas is doing. He must be tearing all his hair out."

"He'll do no such thing," said Haldir, "He has quite the love for that head of hair, doesn't he?"

The generators did indeed work and light up the room in a few minutes, albeit more conservatively and not as lavishly. But the distraction had already done its job, at least for the opportunistic or the highly desperate.

Haldir looked around the room with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Dean Malcolm was nowhere to be found.

* * *

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

The imposing _Amazona_ was a twenty-year-old barge that saw its older days as a cargo ship ferrying miscellaneous goods across the seas before it was sequestered by the government (some old charge a few years back of illegal goods and a lot of bad debts…) and sold to a British research team at a bargain.

The _Amazona_ was named for the legendary founders of her Sinop home, the Amazons. The Brits kept the name, thinking changing it was courting bad luck, though the _Amazona_ in their hands mostly saw seas that were away from Turkey and the Black Sea region.

A few years back, a team of explorers from the National Geographic Society excited the world with their theories and explorations of the Black Sea region, and so the team of the _Amazona_ was not far behind them in learning more.

She was a large ship, built like a cargo barge and modified by the years, now bearing a built-in dredger and crane. The crane hauled up finds and hauled down the undersea probing machines. The dredgers displaced the mud and silt of any undersea work area. The large machines likely took up a third of the space, but the _Amazona_ was so large it easily accommodated for much more.

She rose up four levels over sea, topped by a sundeck and a tower that held the navigation bridge. Deck D, the lowest, held the engines and some storage space. Deck C held the sleeping quarters of staff, crew and guests. Deck B was the mess hall and recreation rooms and gym. Deck A held all the offices, equipment control rooms and generally the work areas.

Grima Wormtongue was making quick work of securing all these places. Of course he began with shooting the man who met them at the helipad on the starboard side of the sundeck. And then he sent his mercenaries up to secure the tower that held the navigation bridge. And then he split up his group and they barreled down the halls of deck after deck, to round up every single body aboard that ship.

He himself flanked the team that pursued Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and Faramir of Gondor in Deck B. He was not in a rush, for he knew he was bound to get them sooner or later. There were very few places to go to in any ship, even one as large as this.

The structure of the decks was basic; long halls with few turns lined by doors of rooms and offices. There was an elevator situated almost exactly at the half-point of the ship, while narrow stairwells were situated on either end— the portside (to the left) and starboard side (to the right).

The group Grima Wormtongue's team was pursuing wisely did not make for the lumbering elevators. They instead headed for the stairwells and were quickly making their way up Deck A, past it, then up to the sundeck.

Grima laughed scornfully from behind them. "Give it up, fools," he said over the growing din of the rain. The nearer they got to the open air of the sundeck, the louder the sounds of the storm became. "There really isn't anywhere to go."

* * *

"That's not true, is it?" Pip asked breathlessly as they broke through to the sundeck. Faramir and Eowyn hastily closed the door of the stairwell behind them, barricading it with an oar they stole from one of the nearby lifeboats.

"That won't hold for very long," Eowyn said.

The sundeck of the Amazona of course had no roof, topping the decks and rising over the turbulent sea. They were by now breathless and cold and soaking wet, and very much almost caught.

"Legolas we are at the sundeck," Faramir said over the comm., "Where are the others?"

"We are anchoring portside," said Elrohir.

"Anchoring where?" Eowyn exclaimed.

"From where you are," said Legolas evenly, apparently knowing exactly where everybody was from the maps he had, "Move to your left, the far end of the ship. That's the portside. Elrohir and the others will be right below."

Eowyn and Faramir each grabbed a hobbit by the arm and hastily dragged them in the direction Legolas said. Sure enough, as they looked over the railing of mighty _Amazona_, a veritable _putt-putt_ of a sailing vessel was alongside the barge, swaying madly with the winds and the black, black waves.

"Where in the world did they get that untenable vessel?" muttered Faramir in displeasure.

"Rope," Eowyn said, looking around her desperately. There were of course, luckily many of these things aboard any ship. She'd surely have preferred the rope ladder of their earlier encounter, but they left the rope and anchored the _Ino_ on the other end of the ship.

"What do you mean rope?" Merry asked in a little voice, even as he knew they were likely meant to _scale_ down the height of the _Amazona_ to the rickety vessel below.

Eowyn and Faramir, with deft, sure fingers, secured two ropes to the railing and tossed the other end down to the waiting hands of Emmett below. He tied that other end to the railing of their commandeered ship, and waved down the hobbits and his sister and friend.

"Go on, Mister Took," said Faramir, "I guarantee you; you've scaled towers of a much greater height than this before."

Pip Took shot him a nervous look. Reincarnation, there it was again, and there was something else too about this man that gave him a measure of… _comparability_ with their hostage below decks. He took a fearful step away from Faramir.

"Mark," he said to his friend, "I'm really not so sure about these guys anymore."

"Pip," said Mark, hands clasping right for the ropes as he heard the stairwell doors burst from behind them, "The way I see it, we can do this two ways. There are two groups after us and we're in this thing so deeply over our heads that I'm sure one of them will get us. So we can either go with pretty Eowyn and the guy who doesn't want to marry her, or the laughing creepy guy who's telling us to give up because there isn't anywhere else to go. What say you?"

"I'd say," Pippin declared with a deep breath, "I've scaled towers of a much greater height than this before."

* * *

A Commandeered _Putt-Putt,_

The Black Sea

* * *

Rolling with the punches was a clever rule of thumb when it came to sailing the high, turbulent seas. Angry or playful Manwe was the _largest_ punch of all, stirring the waves and the winds of such fantastic magnitude that to fight it might with might was a futile exercise. It was analogous to grasses bending with the storm winds, against trees that stubbornly held their ground to defy them. At the end of the day, trees toppled and bent grass rose again with the rising of the sun.

And so it was that when it came to commandeering a sailing vessel from the Sinop docks, Elrohir took one look at the compact little ship and decided that this one was for him. It swayed easily with the will of winds and the waves, was light and easy to handle. Only the gods know where the storm will take them, yes, but it will not destroy their ship.

Emmett of course thought he was crazy, and Gandalf was simply focused on getting to the _Amazona_ to care. Nevertheless, there they were, relatively safe and sound, and he could see the shadows of Faramir, Eowyn, and two lanky young adults standing over the railing, looking down at them.

"Sail them to shore and safety," Gandalf said to Elrohir, "You're the only one of the three of us who can. Eomer and I shall take to the _Amazona_, and end this tonight."

* * *

A Motel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

It was the last thing Legolas heard from the comm. links, before his laptop shut down and literally and figuratively left him alone and in the dark.

He took a deep, shaky breath. His cellphone rang, and he answered it at once, seeing that the call was from Haldir.

"Legolas," said the Interpol Agent, "When the lights went out here in the ballroom, Dean Malcolm managed to give us the slip. Now the generators are on and we were not able to take the same opportunity. We are stuck in here, and he is out."

"He will head for the _Amazona_," said Legolas, "Wormtongue is already there. I will follow."

"The others have the _Amazona_ covered," Haldir pointed out, "Just hold your ground."

"There are many ways in between the hotel, the docks, and the barge," reasoned Legolas, "The Ankh could very well be anywhere there. We've lost much time as it is, I must find him."

"Legolas…" muttered Haldir, although he truly did not know what else to say to counter the Mirkwood elf's logic.

"Besides," said Legolas, "The comm. links are officially out. I can serve no other purpose but this, and I am the only one who presently can. Haldir… the very breath they release you from that room, go to this seedy motel a block from there, room 411. You can't miss it, a bit of a seedy, rowdy place. I will leave the door unlocked, and you folk go manage the laptop and the comm. links as soon as the electricity returns, or you can bring the equipment back to our hotel room where the generators work. I must go now."

"Just be careful," Haldir said resignedly, "This is just great, _elf_. Utterly fantastic. We've just unwittingly left you to your own disastrous devices."

Legolas almost laughed, "Thank you for the faith, Marchwarden. And check that tongue, you might be spending too much time with Gimli."

* * *

Docking Bay,

Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

The cab screeched to a stop and Dean Malcolm hastily ran out to the nearest shed he could find, to shield himself from the wind and the rain. He scanned the ships on the docks, and frowned when he did not sight the _Ino_.

He grabbed his cellphone and dialed for the sailors he drafted into service. The number kept ringing and ringing, but no one was answering. Muttering a curse, he dialed Grissom Warrington's number and got him at the second ring.

"My ship is not here," he said plaintively.

"Where are you?" Warrington snapped.

"At the docks," said Malcolm, "I sneaked out of the hotel, I was bound to be discovered it might as well be now, while I can escape. I need passage to the _Amazona_."

"Where the hell is my Ankh?" asked Warrington.

"You'll have it when I am in the clear," Malcolm said, "I'm not fool enough to just give it to you when you can still leave me out here to be caught. My money?"

"You can check your offshore account," Warrington said, "I will send a chopper for you at the docks immediately."

"Hurry," Malcolm said, looking around him worriedly as he ended the call.

* * *

Finn Baggins and Sam Granger's Quarters

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

"Where the hell are Mark and Pip?" Sam said, looking worriedly at the door, "It never takes them more than three minutes to finish a barrel of food."

Finn glanced at Brad nervously, said nothing as he too turned toward the door.

"They couldn't get in here, could they?" asked Sam, "We have all sorts of guards in all sorts of places!"

"They found us to our homes in Britain," said Finn, "and they," he nodded toward Brad, "good or bad-- found us in Sinop. I cannot discount it."

Brad shifted uncomfortably in the seat he was tied to. If any of their foes reached the _Amazona_ before the rest of the new Fellowship, they'd find him in a rather convenient position, wouldn't they…

"I can't stand this," said Sam, "I'm coming to get them. You'd think Mark and Pip would have the presence of mind to behave in times like these—" he cut himself off, frowning, "Or maybe not."

Finn smiled a little at the other's belated realization.

Sam sighed, stepping toward the door. He pulled it open and peered out, just before slamming it closed again and leaning his back against it.

"Strangers coming down the hall," Sam said to Brad and Finn urgently. "Friends of yours?"

"I'm not sure," Brad admitted, shifting in his seat again, "Did you get a good look at them? Did you see any pointed ears?"

Sam just frowned at him and deigned to reply. "I saw them dragging out the sleeping folk from the other rooms. They're about eight, ten doors away from ours."

"Dragging out sleeping folk?" Brad said, "That does not sound like any friend of mine. You must flee."

"And go where?" Sam snapped, "We're in the middle of the sea."

"Hide it out," Brad said quickly, "The barge is large, you've been here a few days and you'll know it more than these intruders. You must go, you must hide. Quickly now, away with you!"

Sam looked at Finn with wide eyes.

"We will do as he says," Finn said tentatively, as if he was coming to another, more quiet decision. Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward Brad to undo his bonds.

Sam peered out the door and closed it behind him just as quickly. "They are coming this way, we must hurry!"

"Leave it be!" Brad urged, "Frodo, leave it!"

"No," Finn said, "If these are foes of yours, they cannot find you in this way, I cannot allow it. Blast these boy scout knots of Mark's!"

"They are coming," Brad said, trying to squirm away from Finn, "Damn it, kid, just leave."

"I can't undo these cursed knots," Finn murmured, trying to think quickly.

"That's right, you can't," said Sam, "Let's just go. We're not even absolutely sure we can trust this guy."

"He's right," said Brad earnestly, "I'm one of them, really."

Finn shook his head in dismay, turning toward the door. Sam followed, thinking his friend was heeding their advice at last. But instead of running down the hall and away from the intruders who were breaking into door after door and dragging out and securing their occupants, he sailed straight into the cabin across from theirs.

"What are you doing?" Sam whispered, looking in panic at the busy, black-clad intruders who were busy at the other end of the hall and was still oblivious to them.

"I'm in Dr. Malcolm's quarters," replied Finn, scanning the small room urgently. "There's bound to be a knife, a pair of scissors, a razor, gods, even a pen, anything at all to that effect in here."

"We must go," Sam urged, "Finn, we have a chance, they do not yet know we know they are coming. We must go!"

"I won't take long," Finn said distractedly, falling to his knees as he searched the various cabinets. His quick hands tore through clothes, and papers, until his fingers closed around something smooth, slim and coolly metallic. He drew it out from the cabinet, and rose to his feet before he got a look at exactly what it was that he found. It wasn't until after he practically dived back into the room across from Dr. Sean Malcolm's, the one that he and Sam shared, and Sam shut the door behind him, that he realized he was holding the Black Sea Ankh.

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

Eowyn watched her brother secure Merry and Pippin into the boat, and then leave them there as he and Gandalf climbed up the rope to join in the fray aboard the _Amazona_. The raging waters were black beneath them, and Eowyn awaited their climb with a wildly beating heart. The sound thundered in her ears as much as the literal thunder of the skies, and as much as the duller booming sounds from the mercenaries who were struggling to pound at the door and into the sundeck where they stood.

Her own heart broke with the shattering of the door and the bursting forth of their enemies. She readied her stance, aiming her gun carefully, as Faramir did beside her.

Emmett pulled himself up to the deck, and pondered for a moment if he should ready his own stance or assist Gandalf in climbing. He decided on the former; he can best protect the 'old man' if his climbing was uninterrupted by their foes.

And so a curious stalemate held between Faramir, Eowyn and Emmett against Grima Wormtongue and a team of ten men. They all had guns trained against each other.

"Well here we all are," Grima said over the sound of the rain, a sick smile on his face, "What a fix."

Eowyn watched curiously, as team split up into two, one half surrounding the three of them and the other half heading for one of the choppers.

"It's not such a fix, Warrington," Emmett said to his enemy, "Your men will have to aim against three of us, but we'll all be aiming _only_ toward your black heart. In the end, none of the three of us may remain standing but I assure you, _you_ will surely be on the ground with the rains washing away at your lifeblood."

Wormtongue sighed melodramatically, "That would be tragic, wouldn't it? A bit of a fix for my own self, then. What to do…"

It was at this time that Gandalf emerged, pulling himself up on the railing. With a manic glint in his eye, Grima Warrington aimed for the Istari and fired without hesitation.

"No!" Emmett exclaimed, as the old man lost his grip and fell down to the brutal sea below.

Wormtongue's men wisely used the distraction. As Eowyn, Faramir and Emmett instinctively and unfortunately vainly tried to reach for their friend, the mercenaries assaulted them.

Emmett and Faramir were both targeted by two men each, while an unfortunate, singular fellow underestimated Eowyn of Rohan and went after her. These mercenaries knew their work and decided to play for keeps. Though, perhaps under orders to take the new Fellowship alive, they did not shoot, gun barrels were quickly used in the most appropriate of places to deal the worst harm.

No sooner did Faramir turn to once again face his foes that he received a crippling strike to the side of the head, making him stagger and cling to the metal bars of the railing for support. He lashed out blindly, fists connecting with a hard wall of muscle, making one of his opponents cry out and step back. But the cleverer one used Faramir's injury and distraction by striking at him again and this time, to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious. As his vision blurred toward inky blackness, he smiled to himself a little at the sight of his wife giving her captor quite some grief.

One simply does not kill the Shieldmaiden of Rohan's friends, injure those whom she loved dearly, and expect to escape without getting hurt. Her opponent threw his arms over her head and held her in a death grip that cut off her air, but not her anger and determination. Crying out in invoking her strength, she stomped at his instep, and his grip on her loosened. When she elbowed at his ribs, he lost his hold on her altogether, doubling over in an attempt to regain his breath. Eowyn did not hesitate to swing her gun up against his face with as much force as she could, and he fell witless to the ground.

Unfortunately, he was not her only foe by the time she downed him, and one of Faramir's triumphant charges took her in his arms, and pressed a gun to her temple.

Though Emmett seemed preoccupied with his own woes, it was of no surprise that he must have been watching her fight from the corner of his eye. He stilled his movements, stepped away from his foes and looked her way the very breath she fell into her captor's lethal embrace.

She stared at her brother's face determinedly, not bothering to waste her breath and tell him not to heed the threat to her, to keep fighting, et cetera. He wouldn't listen anyways, and their collective strength was likely best focused on regaining their wind and biding their time.

Emmett smirked at her irritated but resigned glare and shrugged as he tossed his weapons to the ground. One of his opponents kicked his guns away, while the other hit him soundly in the face.

They fought valiantly, yes, but all three were hurt and bruised and bleeding on the wooden deck in no time at all. Wormtongue towered over them triumphantly as the chopper took to the turbulent skies above him.

* * *

The Docking Bay

Black Sea Coast

Sinop Area, Turkey

* * *

Legolas redoubled his running efforts as he sighted the chopper beginning its descent. Sure enough Dean Malcolm stood beneath it in wait, and more of the black-clad mercenaries from before were attending to the aircraft; a pilot, a co-pilot, and three gunmen sat in the cabin with arms poised and ready.

Legolas hid in the shadows as Dean Malcolm jogged up to ride the chopper even before it landed and stilled. As the chopper turned and began to rise once again, Legolas dashed forward and jumped up to cling at the landing skids of the helicopter. He was light of weight, and cautious, so hopefully they wouldn't be able to detect him. He hoped too that he would be able to hang on despite the bumpy ride, despite the fact that the rains made the skids slippery and his grip tenuous, and despite the fact that his own weaknesses made his arms quake.

He realized how much of a hopeful being he was as the chopper rose up to the air and his feet left solid ground.

It was kind of like riding a _mumakil_, he reflected, tightening his grip. He looked below him miserably. They've left the docks and were now flying over the raging black, Black Sea.

_It would be a sad shame if I fell_, he thought wryly.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Thanks so much to those who read and those who reviewed. I'm midway through to Chapter 36 now, and I'm feeling that I'm nearing the end very much. At this point, my mind is just going nuts with new plots, but it will be a long while after For Every Evil until I post, because I'll be out of the country for a bit. Anyway, I'm working hard and hopefully, I'll finish this before we leave because you know I hate making you wait for very long. I'll have an extended reply and thanks to all my reviewers by chapter 40, as well as my favorite notes at the end of the story. I hope you guys still stick with me throughout because I know it's getting crazy and confusing and sometimes I wonder if the quality suffers because I get so excited to finish and start something new. Anyway, THANKS SO MUCH!!!

In chapter 36, more action for Legolas and Aragorn! And btw, that wasn't a typo, the Ankh was really found in _Sean_ Malcolm's quarters. Deceptions abound! Hope you had fun and TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	36. Breathless

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

36: Breathless

* * *

Finn Baggins and Sam Granger's Quarters

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

"Tell me that's not what I think it is," Brad said, eyes wide. Finn seemed just as stunned as himself, but the young Brit said nothing, immediately and irreverently using the much sought-after Ankh to loosen the knots on Brad's bindings.

"Finn, hurry," Sam said in a low voice, "We must go."

The young Brit untied Brad with a flourish, and the older man rose up and stretched his arms over his head and his legs before him. He glanced at the Ankh clutched tightly in Finn's hand.

"That's not supposed to be here, is it?" he asked.

"No," Finn replied.

"Keep your hands on that," Brad said, and led the way to the door. He peered out into the hall, ensured that the mercenaries were busying themselves with their other hostages at the end of the corridor, and motioned the two young men forward.

"What about Pip and Mark?" Finn whispered.

"They'll find their way," Brad said confidently, "You must look after yourself and what you carry. Go!"

Brad let Sam and Finn lead the way, jogging away from the mercenaries at the end of the hall, nearer to the ship's portside. They headed for the starboard stairwell and nearly collided with Aragorn and Elladan.

Sam and Finn, not recognizing them, yelped and stepped back. Brad hastily put one hand over each of their mouths and said to them soothingly, "You are with friends."

The pair calmed somewhat, though they inched closer to Brad as if they've trusted him forever and didn't just free him bare moments ago. The American found it amusing.

Aragorn's eyes lit at the sight of Samwise, Frodo and Boromir together. But he said nothing as he ushered the three into the stairwell and closed the door behind them.

"Aragorn," Brad said in a low voice, "Adrian. Whatever. You'll never believe what Finn Baggins has in his hands."

The young Brit hesitantly opened up his palm and showed the new arrivals the Black Sea Ankh.

Aragorn dared not touch it, as before in an older life. He simply beheld it with awe, and its holder with even greater respect. "How did you come upon it this time, Frodo?"

Finn glanced at Sam nervously, uneasy over all these strange names and _far_ stranger circumstances and _far far_ stranger people.

"In Doctor Malcolm's room," he said tentatively, "Sean Malcolm."

Aragorn frowned. "This is news to us. For we thought that it was not he who stole the Ankh but was his cousin, the other Doctor Malcolm."

"I found it in his quarters," Finn said, "That is all I know."

"We have the Ankh and we have the hobbits," said Elladan, "And we even have a ship. We left the _Ino _anchored on the starboard side, incidentally exactly the side which is closest to our present location. If we can just get up to the sundeck, climb down that rope ladder by which we came, raise anchor and haul ourselves out of here. What say you?"

"You say you have the hobbits," inquired Brad, "Mark Brandy and Pip Took as well?"

"Our friends," said Sam urgently, "Are they safe?"

"Yes," Elladan replied, before wincing, "Or as safe as all the rest of us, I suppose. The comm. links are out, but last we checked, they were with some fine warriors. We should trust them to follow the plan. They will do their part, and we must do ours."

"To the _Ino_," said Aragorn, leading the way up the narrow stairwell.

* * *

A Commandeered _Putt-putt,_

The Black Sea

* * *

The sight stirred in him a strange… memory of a dream, he decided, for there seemed no appropriate term. The sight was nightmarish in quality, a story he's heard of, a tale he knew, a tragedy close to his heart, but something he's never actually seen unfold before his eyes such that his mind oft conjured up all sorts of strange versions and the version this night must have been just one amongst many he's imagined ages ago.

_Except it's real_…

The old man's body fell as if it fell forever.

_It's like a dream, and it's like a memory, but it's not my dream and it's not my memory_…

"Gandaaalf!" Peregrin Took exclaimed, his scream slicing across the stormy night, slicing through across ages of memories, slicing across time, and space, and all the knowing and unknowing of his mind and body.

Peregrin Took was awakened in 2004 with the same pain that showed him in the 3rd age that truly, bitterly, inescapably, even a small hobbit of little renown, little ambition, little cares, was to have his slice of the great tragedies of the world.

He jumped into the water.

* * *

Pippin swam for his life and the life of the old friend he dearly loved, eyes intent upon the spot where he saw Gandalf fall. He defied the waves and the winds and the salt that stung his eyes. Dimly, he heard Merry's frantic cries behind him. But Merry was safe, and Gandalf sorely needed him.

He swam like a madman, and stopped only when his hands collided with another frenzied swimmer. At first, the twenty-first century part of his brain cried _Shark_! But when he gasped and pulled back, a frowning, soaking wet wizard was glaring at him.

"Fool of a Took!" the Istari exploded, "What are you doing in these cursed waters?"

"You're alive!" Pippin exclaimed, "Gandalf, I saw you, you were shot, and you fell—"

"I wasn't shot and I didn't fall," the wizard said primly, "I saw him aim and I jumped. There is a very significant difference."

"A significant difference," Pippin echoed, laughing and crying in relief, and the old man's eyes softened, realizing that he was very much remembered by the infamous hobbit.

"Come now, Pippin," said the old man, "I do believe we have an escape to make."

The two old friends swam for Elrohir's _putt-putt_.

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

Emmett chuckled, swiping carelessly at the blood that leaked from his cracked lip. He had pushed himself up to his elbows in a struggle to look over the metal bars of the railing and he clearly saw the wizard being pulled into the vessel by Mark Brandy.

Grima Wormtongue, fresh from his victory over Eowyn, Eomer and Faramir, at last found the heart to tear his conquering eyes from them and looked over at the water himself.

"Will he not simply die?" he cussed, aiming his gun once again and commanding his mercenaries to do the same.

Emmett kicked at their legs and sent them sprawling and struggling. His sister was after the same brand of mischief and between the two of them, they managed to distract their annoyed captors long enough to hear the dimming sound of Elrohir's commandeered vessel as it sailed off away from the _Amazona_.

* * *

Helicopter,

Over the Black Sea

* * *

As soon as Legolas saw that they were nearing the _Amazona_, he pulled himself up on the landing skid. Instead of just dangling by his arms, he sat upon the slim metal as one would sit upon a horse, securing his legs on the bar. He was not yet detected, settling on the far end of the landing skid and away from eye view of the open cabin door. He pondered his situation carefully.

Three men to fell inside the cabin, trained mercenaries armed to the teeth, with Dean Malcolm right smack in the middle of everything. Two pilots, each with easy access to communication systems that could be used to make the other mercenaries aboard the _Amazona_ aware that he was coming.

He frowned. He'd take the pilots out of the equation first, of course, because he wanted to somehow sneak into the _Amazona_. But from where he was, there was no getting to the pilots until he took care of the others, which would then make the pilots aware of him, and then send a quick message to the folk aboard the _Amazona_ and defeating the purpose altogether…

He narrowed his eyes in thought, shortly before springing into action. He jumped aboard the cabin, diving right into Dean Malcolm. He embraced the doctor tightly, and used the doctor to shield his body, knowing the mercenaries wouldn't dare shoot the prize. The stunned mercenaries stared at him as if he was some demon sprung suddenly from the black of the night, and he shot at the speaker ends of the headsets that the pilots wore. Two shots from his gun, clean and precise, not unlike any of the difficult shots he's made along the course of his warrior's life. When one of the pilots reached out for the hand-held radio on the console, he shot at the man's hand, and then at the contraption, just before pressing his still-smoking gun against the temple of a terrified Dean Malcolm.

"Keep your silence," Legolas ordered the mercenaries, "And take us to the _Amazona_."

* * *

Deck B,

Starboard Stairwell,

The _Amazona,_

The Black Sea

* * *

Elladan pressed his ear to the door that stood between the stairwell they were in and the Mess Hall beyond it. "They are herding all their captives into the cafeteria," he declared.

"I hear Eowyn, Eomer and Faramir amongst them," Elladan added more gravely, after a hesitant pause, glancing at Brad with some uncertainty, for both Boromir and Brad was known for a great love of that brother, not to mention a famous impulsiveness.

He should not have doubted, for the man's determination was clearly focused. "We must first get the young ones out of harm's way."

"The other hobbits are not with them," Elladan reported, brows creasing. He was unsure of what that meant; were they killed, tossed over water? Did they hide or escape? They were supposed to be with Eowyn and Faramir… and what was Eomer doing in there without Elrohir and Gandalf? Are Mark Brandy and Pip Took with them instead? So where was the four of them?

_Blast the damn comm. links, I'm like a cursed addict. I desperately want them back_…

* * *

The Hotel

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Haldir of Lothlorien took a deep breath as he stepped out of the lobby and to the rotunda of the hotel. The rains were harsh and therefore most of the 'freed' guests awaited their chauffeured cars under the shade. Crowded as it was, he was pleased over being out in the open air again.

Jimmy Goran beside him was smoking a cigarette right next to the trash can. As they predicted, all of the hotel guests were soon released to do as they wished. First, because they've been kept long enough and there was nothing left to do with them, no place left to search within the confines of the hotel. Secondly, it was because Dean Malcolm had gone missing, and though the first fear had been _Kidnapping_!, there were greater murmurs of him likely being the thief who escaped.

While most of the ball's guests lingered only until their transportation arrived, Haldir and Goran were not rushing at all. Their quarry—Sean Malcolm and Bob Baggins—was also waiting for their cars to arrive.

Anatalia Craxi walked up behind them, having come from securing more car rentals for them. She kept a set of keys to herself, and handed the other to Haldir.

"Seedy place a block from here, right?" she asked, almost tersely, for they _sort-of_ agreed (although she was mostly bullied) into work delegation some minutes ago and she was once again assigned away from the action.

"Room 411," added Goran.

"All right," she said flatly, wanting to kick herself for letting them order her around, and then wanting to kick herself again for being so uselessly annoyed—she knew what she was capable of, just as she knew her limitations all to well and therefore, she had to know that this was the job she had to do. She sighed, touching the Interpol Agent's shoulders, "I'll do what I have to."

"I know," Haldir said impishly, smirking at her.

"You remember how to set up?" Goran asked, "It's actually very simple. Basic stuff. The wires are very--"

"I know how to work your laptop, Mr. Goran," she said, "Not to worry. Thank you."

"Be safe," Goran said to her.

"Me?" Anatalia exclaimed jauntily, "I'm not the one headed off to mad adventure, sir. Crazy quests by crazier folk." Her tone turned pensive, "I do fear… that this night may end and I'll find I'm all alone suddenly."

"We won't let that happen," said Haldir.

"With any luck," added Goran, "We'll be leaving this country a few more friends and not less, eh?"

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

Grima Wormtongue emerged from the portside stairwell after ensuring that all the prisoners were properly secured in the Mess Hall below. He was informed that the chopper bearing Dean Malcolm has been sighted, and was beginning the descent down to the helipad of the _Amazona_.

He watched the chopper as it landed, his heart pounding in mad anticipation, almost near to bursting at the thought that he was just so, so _near_ to power. But more than power, all the ages have led up to this point, his victory, the sign of his ultimate freedom. He was at last his own master.

_If only that blasted thing will land quicker_, he thought irritably.

In an impatient huff, he stalked forward toward the aircraft as it stilled, rotors still whirring over his head. He stopped short at the cabin when he sighed Legolas of Mirkwood looking at him coldly, Dean Malcolm locked in his dangerous embrace.

With a cry of frustrated rage, Grima Wormtongue stepped back from the cabin door, glaring daggers at the elf.

"I should have had you killed," Grima spat out darkly.

"You should have had me killed," Legolas echoed coolly, waving the gun at him almost casually, as he stepped out of the cabin and onto the _Amazona_'s deck, never relinquishing his hold on Dean Malcolm.

* * *

The Sundeck Level,

Starboard Stairwell,

The _Amazona_

* * *

Aragorn frowned as he peered from a crack on the stairwell door. "I hate that showy elf," he muttered under his breath.

Elladan just smirked at him. "I'm not so sure, brother, I find I'm loving him more by the minute. I do believe old Legolas is furnishing us with the perfect distraction to take our young friends to safety. The moment we step out onto the deck, the _Ino_ is just a rope ladder away."

"Good," said Aragorn, "We will therefore do as the others have done. Ferry them to shore, brother, and look after Masters Samwise and Frodo. You are the only one of us who can handle that craft. Boromir and I shall stay, to aid Legolas and our other friends."

"Understood," said Elladan, though he was displeased with the idea of fleeing the 'battlefield,' he also was not foolish enough to argue the logic.

"Have a care for what you carry, Frodo," Brad said to the young man at his side, patting his shoulder reassuringly. He turned to Aragorn with steely eyes, "Lead the way, man."

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

"You won't shoot him though," Grima said, attempting a confident tone, ending up with a snide, embittered remark with an undertone of panic and helplessness, "It is not in you at all, is it, Prince Legolas? What do they say these days, hm… you don't have the goddamn balls."

Legolas almost smirked. He was a cop in L.A.; he's heard far worse things said of him. "I know what my failure means, Wormtongue. I will do what I have to. Trust in that."

Wormtongue scowled at him, said nothing. His eyes were darting back and forth, as if he was struggling to figure out a way out of his considerable predicament.

"Your guns to the ground, now," Legolas ordered him.

Wormtongue remained still, trying to stare his foe down. "Now really, elf. Give me some credit. If I lay my arms down, the Ankh will never come into my possession, I'd be arrested, go to jail, et cetera. If you shot Dr. Malcolm for my disobedience—which I doubt but let us speak theoretically here—I might have lost the Ankh, but not my freedom. And with that freedom, I can have this barge turned inside out in my search. But best of all, with that freedom I can satisfy my ire and dispose of you slowly, and agonizingly. Which do you think I prefer?"

"You won't have the time to scour the _Amazona_ in a search," Legolas pointed out, "A ship cut off from contact for so long courts the coast guard. Dispose of them and you'd have quite the problem with the authorities, and you can't just vanish off the face of the Earth with a barge like this. You can't find the Ankh in the short time afforded you, and you'll eventually get caught. Let us put it this way, Wormtongue. You've been defeated. I have an alternate proposition."

"What would that be?" snapped Wormtongue.

"Cut your losses," Legolas said swiftly, "Take your chopper, leave this barge and hide off to wherever the hell you want. Leave us alone. I'll catch you some other day."

Wormtongue snorted at him, but seemed to ponder it. To flee would give him his freedom, yes, not to mention a chance to try and reclaim his prize some other time. But the taste of failure was always bitter, downright _foul_. After all these lives and all these ages, to once again simply follow in the wiles of someone else was making his heart ache and his head pound with inexplicable fury that was blinding and consuming.

He turned his back on the elf, as if to turn his back from the situation altogether. The event was quickly turning out into one more impotent frustration, ultimately the story of all his cursed lives. His body trembled, his hands fisted at his sides. He was going to burst, he knew it, he was just going to explode, and all of him will wash over the _Amazona_ in the fiery red of all his insides…

He was going to cuss at the skies for his cruel fate, but as his eyes drifted up, it fell instead to the navigation tower he ordered a small group of his mercenaries to take over.

Lightning streaked across the turbulent skies, making the tower look ominous to others, but heaven-sent to him. He caught the shadow of one of his mercenary _snipers_, taking careful aim.

And he smiled.

* * *

The Docking Bay,

Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Haldir and Goran sat low in their rented car, staring over the dash as Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm stepped out into the docks, running from the rain to seek the shelter of a shed. They were apparently looking for the _Ino_ to take them back to the _Amazona_, but of course the _Ino_, unbeknownst to them, was commandeered earlier in the night and was already out at sea.

Sean Malcolm drew out his cellphone, speed-dialed some number or other, waited awhile and then ended the call, with some frustration. It did not seem as if he got through.

The heads of the two scientists shot up at the approach of a vessel, eyes lighting up in the hope that it was perhaps theirs. Haldir and Goran looked as well, hoping that it was a craft that carried their friends; _who else would be mad enough to sail this stormy night_?

They were not disappointed. The scandalously fragile-looking… _thing_ was barely docked when Mark Brandy and Peregrin Took burst out of it and onto land, trailed by Gandalf. Elrohir soon followed behind them. The group of four ran toward the shed underneath which stood Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm.

Haldir and Goran glanced at each other, before wordlessly stepping away from their car and jogging over to the shed as well. They arrived in time to hear Bob Baggins exclaim,

"Philip Took!" Bob asked in surprise and with a tinge of disapproval, "What are you doing out here?"

Pippin glanced at Gandalf, apparently learning (_somewhat_) from all the age-old memories he reclaimed this one telling night, that he ought to think first before answering such questions. Gandalf, eyes amused but also calm and determined, gave him an encouraging nod. At this point, no less than the plain truth will suffice. They were running out of time.

"A bunch of armed men took over the _Amazona_, Doctor," Pippin replied in a rush.

"They are looking for your Ankh," Gandalf piped in.

"Who are they?" asked Bob, looking searchingly into the wizard's eyes, "For that matter…" he asked, voice sinking to a mesmerized whisper, "Who are you?"

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

Legolas could not have noticed Grima Wormtongue's relief, for first, the man's back was to him and secondly, he was distracted by the cautious stepping forth of Aragorn, Elladan, Finn Baggins, Sam Granger and Brad from the stairwell door. He breathed relief, but said no word to them, barely nodding in acknowledgement as he concentrated on his task.

He heard the subtle rustling as guns were trained in the direction of his friends, and his tightened his grip on the trembling Dean Malcolm and he raised his voice to catch their attention.

"No harm to them," the elf said threateningly, "Do not even _think_ it." He watched his friends walk slowly and cautiously to the railing, where a rope ladder hung over the _Ino_ below. Aragorn led the way, and then stood guard as Elladan descended quickly down the ladder. The Rivendell elf, touching ground on the deck of the _Ino_, assisted Frodo and Sam who followed after him. Brad held the rear, but did not follow down the ladder. He stood beside Aragorn in guard of their departing allies.

Wormtongue spared them a single, careless glance. He did not need them, and he certainly did not need the aggravation of keeping them around. He'll get all that he desired soon enough. A manic gleam touched his eye.

Aragorn's gaze darted to and from the mercenaries that surrounded them. The stalemate was a highly charged one, aching to burst, aching to break. So focused was he on this that it was Brad who caught the glint in Wormtongue's eyes upon Legolas.

The man raised his arms slowly over his head, as if to surrender.

Lightning streaked over the skies, and Brad caught a glimpse of the sniper on the tower.

As Grima's hand descended quickly, as if to signal the release of fire, Brad dived toward Legolas and Dean Malcolm, sending all three of them to the ground.

He did not feel the fiery bite of the bullet on his back until he was on the deck, breathless and bleeding.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hey guys!!! Thanks for the c&c's. keep 'em coming if you can, I know we're all pressed for time. I'm ¾ of the way through chapter 37 and am very much nearing the end of this story. I think I will be able to finish it before I leave. Which is a vast relief for me, not only as a writer who values discipline, but also because I know if I don't hop to it, some of you might kill me, haha. Thanks so much, you guys. Evetytime I hit a bump in the road I check out your reviews and they really really lend me fire. So. 'til the next post!!!


	37. All Hell

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

37: All Hell

" " "

The _Ino_,

The Black Sea

Mid-2004

" " "

Elladan's elven ears heard that bullet pierce the night, and though he was a warrior accustomed to such things, it made him jump for he was most certainly not accustomed to fleeing away from a battle.

The two young men with him were glancing at him nervously.

"Maybe we should go back," Finn said softly.

Elladan turned to him, own constricted throat tempted to say nothing. But those aching eyes called for so much more. "We all have our parts to play, my friends. Strengthen your hearts. We can only trust that all will be well, this night."

" " "

The Docking Bay,

The Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

"Who are you?" Bob Baggins asked, eyes boring into a Mithrandir who frankly was unsure of where to start.

"It will take us too long to tackle that question," Haldir said swiftly, cutting in with his usual cool, "Let us say simply this. I am with Interpol, and this is part of my team." He drew out his wallet, showed them his credentials. "You can look that up, I guarantee."

Sean Malcolm squinted at him and the hacker at his side, before his eyes went wide in recognition of them. "You were at the Hotel."

"Yes," Haldir replied, "Dean Malcolm took your Ankh, but he did not do it alone. The men who took over the _Amazona_ knew they'd find the Ankh there and not at the Hotel this night because Dean Malcolm told them. We suspect he was bribed by Grissom Warrington, who is very much in our wanted list."

"I've heard of him," murmured Bob Baggins, "That labor union case. What does that have to do with my Ankh?"

"He is fixated with the idea that it holds a mystical power that can grant him control of the world," replied Gandalf, wincing. "He may or may not be correct, but either way, he must be stopped. Your nephew… he is still in the barge."

Bob's eyes widened. "We must call the police."  
Gandalf glanced at Haldir, considering the wisdom of that. They could not have asked for the aid of institutions before, since they'd have looked like cooky people running on crazy, unfounded suspicions. Now, with a barge having been taken over perforce… they can call upon help. But to call upon help in a situation of this magnitude… Grima Wormtongue was a man desperate for victory and if he cannot have it, he will not let anyone else win. His years of lonely failure crafted him into a ruthless killer. To push him to a corner, with a barge full of hostages a lot of whom were their friends… The new Fellowship would also have a lot to answer for; what were they doing there, what did they have to do with anything, not to mention having to explain all of their illegal arms… Battling crime and evil in this day and age, when everything required a permit and red tape was certainly very complicated.

"I prefer stealth," Haldir said, "Wormtongue will not appreciate having his back to the wall and he will take his ire out on the _Amazona_ staff and our friends in his company. He will be desperate and unmerciful, and trust me, the authorities will leave him with so few options that if we call upon them, we will surely see a lot of blood this night. But it merits consideration too. Our own backs are pressed to the wall. What can we do? Storm in there ourselves, now that Wormtongue and his mercenaries have such a foothold on the territory? Now that theirs is the high ground, and they can see any foe headed to the _Amazona_ from miles away?"

His address was cut short by Elrohir raising up a hand at him to pause, and pressing his free one up to the comm. link in his ear. The familiar buzzing was telling him that they were very much getting back on-line.

"This is Anatalia Craxi, over," the melodious, accented voice graced the lines, "Can anyone read?"

"Loud and clear, sweetheart," Elladan said over the comm. Elrohir detected relief, and a bit of strain in his twin's voice.

"That's not proper protocol, over," Elrohir said good-naturedly, simply happy to hear from his brother. The Rivendell elf smiled at Gandalf, Haldir, Goran, and the four 'hobbits' with them. "We are back on the comm. links, folks. Ana?"

"I'm in the hotel room," she said, trying to sound confident and flippant past all her considerable worries, "The generators are working here, and I could not stand that filthy motel."

"Status report," Haldir requested, aching for a comm. link of his own, having left all his gear in the men's room along with Goran's earlier in the night. "Knowing where everyone is may point us in the right direction."

"Haldir, Goran, Mithrandir, Pip Took, Mark Brandy, Sean Malcolm and Bob Baggins are with me here at the docks," said Elrohir over the comm., "We are safe and Mr. Interpol Agent is requesting a status report."

"I am in the _Ino_ with Sam and Frodo," said Elladan, "We are about ten minutes away from you. We are not being pursued. Eowyn, Eomer and Faramir are being held in the _Amazona_'s Mess Hall along with other captives made up of staff and crew. We shouldn't expect a reply from them, their comm. links were likely detected in disarming them and were consequently discarded."

A potent silence hovered over the group as they awaited the reply of Legolas or Aragorn. All were accounted for save for the pair and Brad, who did not have a comm. link on. It was in this silence that they heard the sound of bullets and rustling and the muffled sounds of combat, that did not need any words at all.

"Boromir!" they heard Legolas' breathless, desperate cry, "Bormir, please. Stay with me…"

" " "

The Sundeck

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

All hell broke loose.

Legolas felt the burly American's weight take him to the ground, and his betrayed heart wondered for a moment if the broken side of Boromir emerged at last, and his desires won over him and he went against the Fellowship once again.

But when the sound of that bullet broke through the night, and he heard his friend's startled cry as the aim proved true to his back, Legolas lost all track of the world around him. The blood, the pain of loss, his failure, his friend writhing on the ground presented a whole reality of its own. He did not notice the sound of his friends on the comm. link, he barely even noted Aragorn trying valiantly to fight his way through to Legolas and Brad, outgunned and outnumbered.

"No!" he dimly heard the _adan_ cry as he tried to push his way past his foes, "No!"

"Boromir," Legolas breathed, desperation straining his voice as he held his fallen friend close, "Boromir, please. Stay with me."

_But he's going to die_, the long-tired part of his mind insisted, _This is how the story was always meant to end_…

"No," Legolas said to himself sternly, shakily.

"No," he said again, more determinedly. He lowered the absently much-pained Boromir to the floor, deciding he was never one to surrender. He's never surrendered against overwhelming odds. He's never even surrendered to his own fate, the fate that called him away from the world he loved, the fate that called him away from the people he cherished.

"It's just a cursed bullet," Legolas said to Boromir sternly, staring into the man's eyes, "It's a single, cursed bullet. It doesn't count for anything. It cannot defeat us, not after all our lives and all the ages have brought us here, in this place, all together all over again. It will not. I won't let it. Don't disappoint me, my friend," he said in a rush, as he pressed his arms to the exit wound on the man's shoulder, "You'll break my heart."

Brad stared at the staunchly determined elf. The wound was burning, it was filling him with coldness and emptying him of _himself_. It was not a new feeling. Boromir was coming back and ironically, he was returning toward death.

_But not to die_, he thought determinedly, _Boromir did not return simply to die…_

_ He returned, at last, _to live.

Breathing harshly, his brows furrowed as the last strings of his life and awareness wound itself about the crazy elf's words.

_It's a single, cursed bullet. _

_ It doesn't count for anything. It cannot defeat us, not after all our lives and all the ages have brought us here, in this place, all together all over again…_

"Not this time, Boromir," Legolas told him, almost harshly, almost angrily. Boromir reflected that the elf was very much becoming the pouty princeling on him.

"This is what second chances are made for," Legolas said to him, "For god's sake, _live_."

The elf and injured man did not even notice Dean Malcolm inching away from Legolas and Brad. He crawled to the gun that left Legolas' hand in the tumble. Shakily rising to his feet, grip tight and trembling, he rose to his feet and pointed the gun Legolas' way.

"You'd have killed me for the Ankh," Dean Malcolm said slowly, loudly, over the din of the rain, over the din of his own turbulent thoughts, "You'd really have killed me for it. That makes what I am about to do, far easier to bear."

Legolas looked up at him, facing down the gun that was pointed right on his face.__

" " "

The Docking Bay,

The Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

_ "You'd really have killed me for it. That makes what I am about to do, far easier to bear."_

Elladan's blood froze at what he dimly heard over the comm., and knew quite well that Legolas was in lethal trouble. As he maneuvered the _Ino _to dock, Sam and Finn left his side at once and joined the rest of the team underneath the nearby shed, having sighted Mark and Pippin and eager to ensure they were safe.

Elladan stayed in the _Ino's _bridge a moment longer to secure her as he called over the comm., "Legolas. Legolas listen to me. Legolas, _mellon-nin_, I hope you're listening. Tell him not to kill you. Tell him the Ankh is not where he left it. Tell him you put it somewhere else. Tell him if he kills you, they'll never know where it went. Legolas. For the valar's sake, hear me."

" " "

Finn and Sam embraced their friends, and Finn embraced his uncle. When he stepped away, it was only at this time that he looked upon the others who were with them. He did not know most of them, yes, but his eyes settled upon Sean Malcolm with great mistrust.

"I found the Ankh in your room," Finn said to him darkly, "What does it mean, Doctor?"

Mithrandir stared at the young man. "The Ankh? Is it with you?"

Sean Malcolm was squirming uneasily loosening and tightening his tie and loosening and tightening it again in his unease.

Finn was nervous as well, for he did not know the old man questioning him, or the man who resembled Elladan looking at him with intensity. The young man was most relieved when Elladan jogged over to them, and the Rivendell elf saw the fear and uncertainty in his eyes.

"You are with friends, Frodo," Elladan told him soothingly, "That is Elrohir, obviously my twin brother. That is Haldir, he is with Interpol. That is Goran, a friend of ours, and that is Gandalf. If you search within your heart, you'll find you are very much safe with us. And treasured too."

Finn took a deep breath, nodded. Sam wordlessly and almost subconsciously pressed closer to his back, as if to lend him warmth and strength as he said, "Yes. The Ankh is with me." he turned to Sean Malcolm again, "And I found it in your quarters."

"I don't know how it got there!" the doctor exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers.

" " "

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

_For the valar's sake, hear me_…

"The Ankh is not where you left it," Legolas said to Dean Malcolm slowly, so as not to alarm him, "I know where it is."

"You lie," Dean Malcolm said darkly, stepping forward and pressing the cold, cold barrel of the gun to the elf's forehead. The Mirkwood Prince did not even flinch, staring back at the man with his glacial eyes set in determination.

"If you kill me, you will never find it," Legolas guaranteed him.

"You lie," Malcolm said again, "You were with me all this while, you were not in the _Amazona_, you couldn't have found it. I should just kill you now—"

Grima Wormtongue stepped behind Dean Malcolm and put a hand to his shoulder to calm him. "Lay down that gun, Doctor, I doubt you know how to use it."

Reluctantly, Dean Malcolm lowered the gun to his side. Grima Wormtongue stared at the elf, who was on his knees on the ground. He liked the sight of it, as if the elf was begging for his life. He felt quite powerful, and therefore it put him in a bit of an indulgent mood.

"The Ankh is not where Malcolm left it?" Grima asked.

"It's not," Legolas replied stonily.

"Tell you what," Grima said, "We'll see. And if you are lying," he waved two of his men forward, and they were hoisting a disoriented Aragorn between them. Legolas' jaws set at the sight of his friend, regretting that he was busy tending to his and Boromir's troubles to aid the _adan_, now sagging between his captors.

"I will shoot his face in front of you," Grima promised him, "Right in front of you, so near that his blood will spray to your lips, and you can taste it and smell it and remember it always. And then, and then I'll literally drown you in that one's blood," he said, nodding toward the semiconscious Boromir on the ground.

Legolas' chin jutted up in defiant, angry reflex. But looked upon his injured friends, he bit his tongue, and then said more calmly, "None of that will matter if they are already dead."

Grima's eyes narrowed in irritation. "Fair of you to say." He turned to one of his men. "Bring the pair of them to sick bay, treat them just enough to keep them alive, so we can kill them if the clever elf proves to be a liar who decided to waste my time."

A group of mercenaries shuffled away to do as he bid, bearing Aragorn and Brad away with them. Legolas watched his two friends being dragged away with a heavy heart. He fervently hoped that Elladan was telling the truth.

A pair of Grima's men hauled him up to his feet, and Wormtongue stepped toward him with a calculating look in his eye. He took quick aim with his gun and shot at the elf's leg, almost casually.

Stunned, Legolas let out a surprised, pained cry as his knees buckled beneath him and he leaned upon his captors heavily.

"Shouldn't expect anymore trouble from you," Grima said coldly, before turning to Dean Malcolm, "Lead the way, Doctor. Take me to where you think you left my prize."

" " "

The Mess Hall,

Deck B,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

They took the on-staff doctor away. The man had an inalienable calm about him that Faramir oft saw in folk of that profession. Mercenaries stormed into the Mess Hall asking for him in both name and title, and he coolly raised his hand and rose to his feet from his position sitting across from Faramir, whom he was treating for cuts and bruises after tending to the Rohan siblings.

"I am the doctor," he said, and they simply dragged him off. Faramir watched, unworried. They asked for him because they required his services, and his life is likely far more safe and secure than the lives of all the rest of them. He wondered how his brother and their friends were faring.

His wife, as always, knew to read the turbulence in his eyes. She laid claim to his bruised hands and squeezed them gently, making them sting a bit, but more than anything, reminding him that he was not alone, and things will somehow turn out for the best.

" " "

Sick Bay,

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

The _Amazona_, having such a large crew handling a lot of heavy and dangerous equipment, was required by law not only to have a competent medical team as part of the regular staff, her sick bay was also required to be surgery-ready.

Aragorn could tell, however, that the calm doctor who was treating Boromir was yet to encounter a gunshot wound in all his years of service.

The once-King of Gondor glanced at the doors to the sickbay, manned by four mercenaries. They were watching him with steely eyes, as if daring him to attempt an escape. He had no plans of taking up the invitation anytime soon; his head was throbbing, his body pained and sore. He had nothing on him at all, not even the comm. links, having been completely disarmed. They worked on him quite well, he mused with some quirky humor. Besides, he was not making any escape attempt alone, to abandon a friend grievously injured and stretched upon an operating table looking like death.

_I've just found you in this life, my friend_, he thought fervently, _Do not leave me_.

"Do you require assistance?" Aragorn asked the doctor, who was studying the situation thoughtfully, "I am Doctor Adrian Aarons, I've handled gunshot cases before. I'm a practitioner in L.A."

The younger doctor looked at him skeptically, but he stepped forward anyway. The mercenaries stiffened with caution, but let him do as he pleased.

"I am injured," said Aragorn, "And my hands are not quite… steady. But I can assist you in other ways, and advise you. I am qualified, I guarantee. But more than that, this man here is my friend, and I will not fail him. I can be your head, and you can be my hands. Together, we can save him."

" " "

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

They seemed to have no qualms about streaking the floor with his blood. Legolas dizzily craned his neck behind him, watching the deep red of his life streaking the ground behind him as he was dragged along the narrow hall lined by door after open door of empty sleeping quarters. He and his two escorts walked behind Wormtongue and Dean Malcolm, the doctor walking at a bit of a harried pace in his nervousness. The eager Wormtongue beside him held no complaints of course, excited to either hold the new Ring in his hands or gleefully kill Legolas and his other 'tormentors.' The other mercenaries in their parties held the same brisk pace in stride, and it was of course, only Legolas who was profoundly displeased about it.

He tried to walk, really he did, but the blasted leg had a mind of his own. It bent and twisted and seemed to even _melt_ with his weight, and it bled generously, as if he had so much to spare.

He's been shot before, of course, it was theoretically supposed to be an experience he knew to handle. Years ago, it had been his left leg, and now it was his right. There was something almost vaguely insulting about that, he just wasn't sure why. He sighed heavily; he wasn't making very much sense, he was confusing himself. He wondered what will happen next.

Elladan was probably telling the truth, that Ankh wouldn't be where Malcolm left it. That means Aragorn and Boromir won't be killed in a most terrible way before him, although he'd likely have successfully courted Wormtongue's ire again such that Grima might just go through with his plans anyway. He craned his neck behind him once again at the blood-streaked floor.

_What did I say earlier this night?_ he thought, _None of that will matter if _I'm_ already dead_…

Or it will matter, he supposed. Of course it mattered. His life was on the line, yes, and so was that of all his friends'. Their victory mattered for his loves, he naturally wished they'd survive. But greater than all the rest of them, victory mattered because it was now coming down to what they will be leaving the world—good or evil. It just didn't matter in the sense that if he bled to his death being so cavalierly dragged along these halls, he wouldn't be able to affect the outcome anymore.

The party stopped when Dean Malcolm and Grima Wormtongue halted before the door to the doctor's quarters. The tension was palpable as Dean Malcolm took a deep breath and stepped inside. For one reason or other, Grima Wormtongue stood by the doorframe, watching the doctor with narrowed eyes and a thoughtful frown.

Dean Malcolm went to his cabinets and seemed to know exactly where to look, there was no hesitation at all to where he was sure he kept the Ankh. His eyes and jaws were set, his hands sure. But of course he came up empty, and with a growl of frustration, he dug deeper into the cabinet. Still, no Ankh. He then threw all of its contents to the ground—various ties and cufflinks and handkerchiefs. By this time, Wormtongue was no longer surprised when he still yielded nothing. Dean Malcolm thereafter turned to another cabinet, did the same, and then focused on another…

The floor was by now littered with the man's belongings, and before he could completely scour the room in his desperate searching, Wormtongue, a picture of controlled rage waiting for the final straw to break him, turned to Legolas.

"Where is it, elf?" he asked darkly.

Legolas looked up at him, said nothing. After all, what can he say? The silence was cut up by the vicious, aggravated half-sobs of Dean Malcolm, now on his knees in the middle of the room. He glared at the elf hotly.

"It was not yours to take!" he exclaimed.

"You're one to speak," Legolas said to him mildly.

Wormtongue, of course, did not bother with claiming he wasn't a thief. He stared the elf down, said nothing for a long while as he thought about his next course of action.

Suddenly, Dean Malcolm gasped with an epiphany. Legolas, Wormtongue and the mercenaries glanced at him quizzically as he pushed his way past them and headed toward another room. He stepped inside and began going through all the cabinets and closets of Sean Malcolm.

"What are you doing?" Wormtongue asked irritably.

"I left the Ankh in that closet of mine," replied Dean Malcolm distractedly, "Then I helped take care of business aboard the _Amazona_. I lingered with the work as Bob Baggins and my cousin went to dress for the hotel event tonight. By the time we were all ready, I just… I remembered it just now. Sean was wearing one of my ties. I suspect he may have found the Ankh when he was rummaging through my things to borrow one thing or other—not entirely strange of him to do so—and he kept it to himself."

Exhaling a quick breath, Wormtongue nodded at his mercenaries to aid the doctor's eager searching. But the way he pinned Legolas' face with his eyes clearly told the elf that Wormtongue was not counting on finding the Ankh in that room.

The two mercenaries holding Legolas up leaned him against the wall, and he sagged against it as he returned Wormtongue's stare. The man grabbed Legolas by the side of his neck, fingers digging into hair and skin. He pressed the elf's face close to his own.

"Prince Legolas," he said, voice soft and slithering over the small space stretched out between them, "I know this story quite well, and thought to beat you to the Prize. You'd go look after your hobbit friends, that much was certain. But I headed straight for the first hobbit who had that Ring in his hands, for I never took my eyes away from the bounty, I was never blinded by the friendships that ultimately took you elsewhere. And I was correct, I beat you to the Ankh. In a sense. But the _goddamn_ story is repeating itself, and though I've found Dean Malcolm and the Ankh first, it was taken from him by Sean Malcolm. And if this story does go on as we all know it, I won't find that Ankh in that room, will I? I'll find it with Frodo Baggins."

"I don't know," Legolas admitted, considering it a safe answer.

"You certainly knew enough to say the Ankh was not where Malcolm left it," Wormtongue pointed out, "Where is the Ankh, elf? Do not try my patience." His grip about the elf's neck tightened, and he pressed Legolas' head to the wall.

"I don't know," Legolas said again.

With a low growl, Wormtongue pulled his hand away from the elf, as if preparing to strike him. But his fingers tangled in the elf prince's hair, and a slim black wire that he traced all the way up to a comm. link on the elf's ear, and a cleverly-concealed speaker at his collar. He ripped it off, as Legolas cried for his friends:

"Say nothing of importance!" he said, "Wormtongue can hear!"

This time, Wormtongue did successfully backhand him across the face, and if he wasn't clinging to the wall in support in the first place, it was a strike of such great force and anger that it likely would have brought him to the floor.

Wormtongue slipped on the comm. link. "I wish to speak with young Mr. Baggins."

TO BE CONTINUED…

HEY GUYS!!! Sorry for the delay, I've just been so busy. I'm halfway through chapter 38… I guess you can tell where this will be headed. Wormtongue's going to try and ransom all of his _Amazona _hostages for the Ankh, and is going to make damn sure hurting people will make Frodo Baggins and company consider his offer.

Thanks for the c&c's… an extended thanks and replies will be at the end of the fic, I promise, along with my afterword or story notes; the inspiration of the story, some parallelisms with LOTR, some symbolisms you may or may not have noticed, some character notes, etc.

I'm also considering a sequel for F.E.E., and for those of you who know I'm obsessive compulsive, a sequel ultimately means a trilogy so that I'd end in a kind of 'round' number. FEE will has parallelisms with the original LOTR theme so that it won't be so much of a detached leap from the original to a modern-day AU. After the considerable difference has been breached, I will be going all-out modern for the sequel, and then going back to the original themes in the third of the trilogy. I already have the plots, but I won't discuss them yet as I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps in my notes, where I almost always discuss my next projects. There'll be a definitive summary already.

Anyway, thanks so much for your time, keep the c&c's coming if you can, I know life can get so crazy. Hope you had fun and 'til the next post!!!


	38. Strange Old Places

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

38: Strange Old Places

" " "

The Docking Bay,

The Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

" " "

_Say nothing of importance!_

_ Wormtongue can hear!_

"I want to speak with young Mr. Baggins," Wormtongue said, but those with the comm. links deigned to reply.

They heeded their elven friend's warning, and looked upon each other uncertainly. The perceptive Finn Baggins was staring at his companions with his wide penetrating eyes. The grave expressions on the faces of the older ones, those who knew what was happening, was stirring something in him that he vaguely felt he'd rather keep silent and asleep.

He was feeling strangely responsible, strangely guilty. He turned to Elladan pleadingly, wanting to know what was happening.

"They are holding all of our friends captive," said Elladan quietly, "They are looking for the Ankh."

"Which I now hold in my possession," Finn said softly. He fingered the artifact in his coat pocket, thoughtful. He considered handing it to the others; they seemed more knowledgeable of the situation than him. But for some reason they let it stay with him wordlessly, and he remembered what Brad said to him earlier this night about the story of the Ring. Another artifact that they let stay in his hands, trusting him to…

"It must be destroyed," he said softly, "By me."

"No one's destroying my Ankh!" Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm said at the exact same time.

"It's not yours, you filthy thief," snapped Bob at his fellow scholar, "You filthy, filthy thief."

"I did not take it!" retorted Sean, and as Baggins glared at him hotly, unrelenting, he said quickly, "Well not at first. Dean stole it, I found it in his room. There's nothing wrong with stealing from a thief."

"Everybody calm down," sighed Elrohir, "We're not even entirely sure how we can destroy it, now that Mount Doom is at the very bottom of the blasted--"

"I want to speak with Frodo Baggins at once!" Wormtongue said, over the comm. more forcefully, so menacingly that those who had comm. links seemed to have been forcibly torn away from the docks, minds almost soaring off toward the _Amazona _with great, breathless fear.

"Put him on, NOW!" Wormtongue demanded.

When he was still met with no reply, they heard him cuss and snarl, just before they heard the blast of his gun.

" " "

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Legolas lifted his head up from when he ducked to the ground, warrior's instincts having taken over the very breath Wormtongue's eyes took on a crazed look and he lifted his gun up loosely in Legolas' direction. In afterthought, he really shouldn't have bothered, for the man was not aiming for him at all, and the bullet made a home of a notch on the wall.

"Next one's going to weave its way to the elf," Wormtongue said over the comm., "Someone had better start talking to me."

"They won't tell you a thing," Legolas scoffed at him, "you'll never get your hands on it. Do you honestly think that after all these lives and all these ages, they will yield it to someone like you? That doesn't just make you an idiot, that doesn't just make you a fool, it makes you downright deluded."

" " "

Docking Bay,

Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

He couldn't hear what they were saying, and he was downright _starving_ for a comm. link of his own. But the Interpol Agent could read the faces of Elrohir, Elladan and Gandalf clearly enough. There was a steady, pained determination in their eyes, wary glances toward Frodo Baggins as if they ached to tell him something but could not find the heart to.

But Jimmy Goran, perhaps because he once was Gimli the dwarf, still had that inalienably persistent desire to always be kept abreast of the situation.

"What is happening in there?" he asked, "What the hell is happening in there?"

Haldir placed a calming hand on his shoulder, to silence him for a moment. It was easy enough to deduce, he supposed, what was happening aboard the _Amazona_, and likely Goran was distressed because he desired a different answer.

Wormtongue had their friends. They had the Ankh. He wanted a trade, and he was undoubtedly prepared to shed blood for it. From the looks on Elrohir, Elladan and Gandalf's faces, he's already started.

"He is hurting them anyway," Haldir said quietly, "I might as well call for the assistance of the authorities. We've no other choice. We can't board that barge and expect to succeed in attempting to take it; they can see us coming miles away and can prepare. We're outgunned and outnumbered, and they have the high ground."

"As you said earlier this night," said Gandalf, putting a hand over the speaker of his comm. link to prevent from being heard by Wormtongue, "Or backs are indeed pressed against the wall."

Haldir nodded and picked up his cellphone.

"We must take the hobbits to safety," said Elladan, "If Wormtongue cannot get the Ankh by ransom, he'll likely try by searching for them."

"Haldir," said Gandalf, "We shall spirit the young ones away."

Haldir pressed a hand to the receiver of his cellphone, "It is best that you do so; I am certain you have no wish of fielding any questions from the police. I will oversee that this operation is done in the safest manner."

"I'm going with you," Goran said flatly, booking no arguments.

Haldir glanced at him with a bit of a smirk.

"You have a bit of an affinity for elves, Mr. Goran," said Haldir, "When you come back to yourself, however, you'll find you've been mistaking me for some other blond, pompous fellow."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Goran said simply, "I'll just be where I think I'll be useful."

Haldir smiled a bit and shrugged, not bothering to argue as he turned his attention back to his cellphone.

" " "

Sick Bay,

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

When his eyes opened, they opened to an _old_ world. That was because his King was looking upon him, face creased in worry even as he made a valiant attempt at a welcoming smile.

"My King," he said, or tried to say, at least. His weak voice was alien to him, just as the words were once alien too… but he was Boromir now, of that he was certain. Death brought the warrior back to life. The willingness to die for those he loved, a cause he believed in, brought those loves and those causes into focus, and he's reclaimed himself at last.

He knew, of course, that the last time that hardy face and those steely silver eyes looked upon him this way, he was dying. But instead of grief there is welcome in his sovereign's face, and he thought perhaps that things might just turn out all right, _this_ time.

"Save your breath, my friend," Aragorn said to him, touching his cheek gently and resting his warm hand upon it, eyes alight, glistening at Boromir's apparent remembrance, "Quite a journey you've made. Through life and death, and then life anew. Except it's a life that's old."

Boromir closed his eyes in weariness, and he thought he smiled. "You are a very complicated thinker."

"Do you want anything for the pain?" Aragorn asked, "We treated you with the minimum anesthetics. I wanted you awake in the soonest possible time, that I may assure myself of your welfare, and that you may be awake and _possibly_ able to defend yourself in case we encounter anymore trouble."

"I didn't even notice the hurt," Boromir said with an irritable grunt, "Until you pointed it out. Sire."

"Why does he call you that?" a disembodied voice said in the background, and Boromir struggled to crane his neck and see who in the world that was. But his body was leaden, and the various tubes and wires on his body was making everything such a ridiculously difficult and ultimately pointless task.

"That is Doctor Yavi," said Aragorn, "I assisted him in treating you. He has a wonderful pair of hands."

"Are we being taken hostage because of you?" Yavi asked, "You're some kind of a royal guy?"

Aragorn and Boromir crossed ironic, humorous glances. How in the world could they possibly answer that?

The one relaxed conversation they've had that entire night was cut short when Legolas Greenleaf burst through the double doors of Sick Bay, apparently having been thrown forward. Unable to catch himself, he fell to the ground as he crashed into a metal tray of miscellaneous medical tools.

Stunned, it took Aragorn a blink of disbelief before he sauntered forward and placed a hesitant hand upon the elf's shoulder. The Mirkwood Prince was bleeding to half his life the way he looked, pale and trembling, with the leg of his pants soaked in a deep crimson. But there was never enough blood loss to rob him of that princely glare. He pushed himself to his elbows and looked up hotly at the double-doors from which he came.

Grima Wormtongue strode into Sick Bay with an air of impatience and cold, cold efficiency. His mercenaries wordlessly grabbed at Yavi, Aragorn and Legolas, and held onto them tight. Wormtongue glared down at Boromir, who was staring at him with anger, and a well-concealed but admittedly present fear. Wormtongue tore his eyes away from the injured man, and studied the machines that kept him alive. Frigidly, he pulled at a plug on the wall, and the medical equipment bleeped in alarm and died down with a fading whir.

"No!" Aragorn cried, struggling with his captors, "Boromir! No!" His eyes burned. He was weakened by his pains, but he was angry enough, and determined enough, to send renewed fire coursing through his veins. He took one of his captors down to the ground, knocked him out with a single, well-placed punch to the jaw.

Two of the mercenaries grabbed him from behind, by the arms and the neck. One of these was one of Legolas' two captors, relinquishing his hold on the elf in the _false_ belief that he was too weak to cause similar trouble. But the Mirkwood Prince was, of course, practically _made_ for disaster… He had slipped one of the medical knives he crashed into earlier into his sleeve, and decided now was the best time to make use of it.

Perhaps out of sheer revenge, he stabbed his captor on the leg, and twisted it just before he pulled it out. The man screamed in pain, and loosened his hold on Legolas. The elf then elbowed him on the stomach, and backhanded him so fiercely it sent him to the ground. Legolas looked to see how Aragorn was faring, and the warrior already successfully downed two of his foes. But he was obviously weary and hurt, and that last one was getting the better of him. Taking careful aim, Legolas sent his knife toward the back of the mercenary's neck, and the man went down to the ground with a dead, dull thud.

The elf then looked toward Grima Wormtongue, who was nervous but tried to remain unfazed. He backed up against the wall, gun raised before him threateningly to anyone who dared come close, and a radio to his mouth, apparently calling for reinforcements.

Legolas pondered his options. Boromir was dying (_unfortunately, again_). Grima Wormtongue had a gun trained on him and was never hesitant to use it. He could try to jump the man, of course, but he was injured and unarmed. He _wanted_ to jump the man, wanted to train his own gun against his head, tell his mercenaries to stand down or the boss gets it and no one's going to get paid. Ransom us, why don't you, _I'll_ ransom _you_, you sick bastard. But it was, of course, at this point in time, a bit of a dream. Wormtongue would have shot him, point-black, mid-air. Quick as he was, he was also a warrior and certainly no fool. In short, he found with a bit of a sigh that he didn't have very many options at all.

Legolas' eyes drifted away from him and toward Boromir, whose glassy stare was wide with desperate, inadequate gulps of air, blue-tinged lips partly open with his struggle. Legolas limped toward his bedside and looked at the multitude of wires with some alarm.

"Aragorn!" he cried, and the _adan_ broke away from the felled mercenaries to the elf's side. The men holding Doctor Yavi held the same, cautious stance as Wormtongue, fearing to move.

Aragorn deftly organized the wires and put them back in their proper places. Boromir's breathing gradually eased, and his eyes drifted close in exhaustion. Legolas looked at Aragorn with a bit of a smile, exhilarated with the minor victory, as reinforcements of the downed mercenaries stormed into Sick Bay and once again took hold of them.

"That was a futile exercise," Grima said, after they were once again secured.

It can be looked upon that way, yes, Aragorn mused. But in a night so fraught with great dangers, every breath was a treasure. One could not help but look at the short-term, take the night one aching step at a time. They saved their friend after he was shot, step one. They saved him after Wormtongue shut down life support, step two. Only the gods knew where life would next take them. For now, he was simply relived that Grima Wormtongue did not try to do what he did with Boromir earlier.

Grima stepped toward Aragorn, tilting his head in thought. "I am having trouble reaching the Ringbearer. I am having trouble claiming my Ankh."

"Do you expect me to help?" Aragorn asked him sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"As a matter of fact," Wormtongue said with a grunt as he arranged the comm. link upon Aragorn's ear and collar. He always had, and never lost these adroit servant's hands, quick and efficient. He stepped away from the _adan_, "I do indeed expect your help."

"I can't see how," Aragorn retorted, although it was of course, a lie. Frodo's always had a great, great heart. It will pain him to have people suffer directly or indirectly because of him. To ransom people was a plain enough tactic—_give me the Ankh or Boromir dies_, et cetera. But because Frodo was not here to see, and Boromir or Legolas or himself won't cry out in plea, or fear, or anguish, Wormtongue needed some form of a narrator, to tell Frodo what was happening, to tell Frodo who'd die and exactly _how_ if he did not yield the Ankh.

Now Aragorn… Aragorn always had no qualms about sacrificing himself. If he was tortured, and Grima tried to force him to cry out to Frodo in help, he knows he'd keep his silence to the death. So would Legolas and Boromir. But… but if he was made to watch Legolas or Boromir harmed, and forced to describe it to Frodo lest they be killed right in front of him… it was certainly much harder than if he just simply needed to sacrifice himself.

" " "

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

There was quite a number of them, so they split the riding party in two cars. The sons of Elrond spread their considerable talents around, and once more they split. With Elladan rode Finn and Sam, who'd taken a liking and found a comfort in him. With them rode Sean Malcolm, who was shying away from the ire of Bob Baggins, who was pondering Gandalf with some intensity and was loathe to leave him. Bob and Gandalf rode with Pippin and Mark, who were quite taken by Elrohir.

It shouldn't be hard to believe that the ride in the former, in Elladan's charge, was more uncomfortable than the veritable rollercoaster his twin drove (what with Pippin, Mark and Elrohir himself all there to cause trouble).

For here in this car, history weighed far more heavily, far more painfully. Here was Smeagol as caught in deception and insatiable _hunger_ ages ago, as now. And here was a young man pressed into duties that entailed the fate of the world—quite a burden for a frame so small. Here was Sam, one of the grandest friends of all the worlds, unsure and worried. Here was Elladan, who was facing the loss of lifelong friends held captive in the _Amazona_. The limited space of the car—windows closed and air wet and tight because of the raging rains outside—was heady with the weight of history, and fear of the future, the very _burden _of it was just clogging every breath.

Elladan's jaws were set tight, as he kept his burning eyes on the road. He could hear the muffled crashes and hits, every strike that met flesh, every gasp that tried to remain silent, all from the comm. link he could not bear to tear from his ear. It was almost vulgar, to try and spare the self of hearing their pain, it was almost traitorous not to stay, and share some of it, even in just spirit. His friends were dying. Slowly, painfully. And he was, once again this night, running the other way.

Finn Baggins, uneasily settled in the backseat next to Sam, was staring at his face from the rearview mirror. He was always very perceptive. People were getting hurt. People were likely dying. All for this silly, little thing…

"I wish the Ring had never come to me," he said suddenly, slicing across the palpable silence.

Elladan glanced up at him from the rearview mirror. He knew that after all these ages, his eyes were setting upon some fragment of Frodo Baggins once again.

No one in the car corrected Frodo, or considered the reference to a ring as a confused mistake. Perhaps Sam and Sean found it trivial. Or perhaps, somewhere deep in their own minds, in their old spirits, they knew that in speaking of the Ring, they were also speaking of the Ankh.

" " "

Sick Bay,

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

It really wouldn't have been very interesting to torture a man who was unconscious and unresponsive. It was a bit like poking needles upon a smiling doll. So it was in this way that Boromir was momentarily left out of the equation, and Grima Wormtongue turned to Legolas of Mirkwood instead.

It wasn't quite… _satisfying_ either, though. Torturing the elf was like poking needles upon a _snarling_ doll. There was more than a bit of an angry, unbreakable danger to the elf, as if pride itself flowed through his veins instead of blood, even though Wormtongue was sure blood flowed in there too—he's certainly shed quite a lot of it.

Nevertheless, unfazed though the elf seemed to be, the true target of his torture was not at all him, but Aragorn the spectator. And then through Aragorn, Frodo, who will hear all that transpired, and will continue to transpire until all his friends died or he yielded the Ankh.

The man was not as undaunted as the elf. His eyes were wide and angry, he looked as if he ached to burst from his skin. He struggled against the men who held him—three, now, and struggling too. Aragorn Son of Arathorn always was a formidable force. But it was they themselves of the Fellowship whop showed Grima their own weakness…

_Fellowship_… such power, in a single word. Such purpose, such determination. There was a strength there that was solid and undoubted. There was a grand purpose, a grand purpose driven by love—love of home and country, as was the case with the hobbits and the Shire, or Bormoir and Gondor, love of friends, as was the case once again with the hobbits and then with the Three Hunters, love of lovers… Love lent strength. But it also lent weakness.

It was that very weakness that Grima Wormtongue was seeing in the once-King's now-desperate eyes as he beheld a much-loved, lifelong friend suffering.

Legolas of Mirkwood leaned heavily against a now-bloodstained wall, glaring at him as if those eyes could not get any more icy blue. They backed the elf to a corner, ensured there were no trays or instruments around for the inventive elf to take advantage of once again. They had their brutal way with him, certainly, and at first he refused to let them. They kicked and punched and he kicked and punched back, twice as painful, thrice as angry. Elf was a lethal spitfire. But the more he fought, the more anguished and agitated Aragorn became as he watched, and as Legolas saw this, he calmed somewhat and simply let them hurt him. Or perhaps he was just weakening.

"He doesn't look very good at all, does he?" Grima asked Aragorn, silky voice slithering in the man's ear.

Aragorn didn't indulge him. Didn't even bother to tear his eyes from Legolas long enough to toss Wormtongue a heated glare. This irked Wormtongue so much that he made a grab for the man's hair and forced him to look at his face.

"Tell Frodo Baggins what is happening," Wormtongue said, "Tell him. Tell him more will get hurt, tell him someone's going to die. Tell him your silent elven friend is bleeding on the ground, and he's painting all the goddamn walls red. Tell him to come to me with my Ankh. Tell him Legolas won't scream because he refuses to break the hobbit's heart. Tell him people are dying for him. Tell him. Tell Frodo, and I'll stop."

Aragorn turned his head a bit and looked at Grima coldly, as if he was some filth who did not merit any attention other than the barest kind, and the harshest kind at that.

"He's not on the ground," Aragorn said to Wormtongue blandly, coolly, as if it was nothing at all, and he tore his eyes from Wormtongue, smiling at his elven friend.

"He will be," Wormtongue vowed.

" " "

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

"Gandalf," said Pippin, "I can't quite see how Frodo can destroy the Ring, this time around."

The chatty young Brit looked pensive from the backseat, where he sat in between Bob Baggins and Mark Brandy.

"I've been wondering about that myself," Gandalf agreed.

"We all know travel to Mordor in the old ages was quite a feat, and it was most certainly accomplished," said Pippin, "But Mordor is now at the very, very bottom of a wide, hostile sea."

"You're sounding crazy, Pip," said Mark with a wince, "And I'm not sure but I have a feeling I know what you're talking about."

"Give it time, my son," Pippin said playfully, "Give it time."

"The very air you breathed in Mordor was poison," Gandalf said softly, "But down there, beneath the sea… there is no air to breathe at all."

"We won't be asking Frodo to go down there, will we?" Pippin asked, "I mean experienced divers don't even go down there, no one ever has, except for those probing thingies."

"The probots," Bob Baggins corrected him pertly, perhaps out of sheer academic habit. He didn't say anything else.

"I need time to ponder this," said the wizard, "It must be destroyed where it was made. But it was made down there, where we cannot go. There is a way, surely, we're just yet to discover it."

"There's always a way," Pippin agreed.

"In the meantime," said Gandalf, "We have to look after each other. That is all that we can do."

The wizard sighed, glancing at Pippin from the rearview mirror. It was just so strange, that the few folk he could truly talk to of rationality, and strategy, and courses of action was _the_ Fool of a Took.

Life truly brought them to strange old places.

TO BE CONTINUED…

HEY GUYS!!! Thanks so much for the ultra-encouraging c&c's… you guys just inspire me so much. THANK YOU FOR THE FIRE. I hope I don't disappoint. I'm midway through to chapter 39, and started on the notes already so we're definitely nearing the end.

Please keep the reviews coming if you can, I know we're all busy so just if you can. I also promise to reply to questions with my notes… i just want to let you guys know for now that you really have an impact on how the story progresses. Sorry also to keep you guys waiting I'm working real hard, promise :)

THANKS again, hope you had fun, and 'TIL THE NEXT POST!!!


	39. The Deal

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

39: The Deal

" " "

The Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

" " "

Anatalia Craxi gave her lover a quick embrace as he strode into the room trailed by Finn Baggins, Sam Granger and Sean Malcolm. She sat on the floor before Jimmy Goran's laptop, and her eyes were a bit wide with a brand of horror she's never truly known before.

"He is going to kill them," she said to Elladan softly.

The elf put a hand to the speaker of his comm. link that Grima Wormtongue may not hear what he was going to say. "Haldir is gathering a force to break in." He told her sternly, although she knew and understood him long enough to be sure that he wasn't very optimistic about that at all. There was never any 'breaking in' to a barge. It sat in the middle of the sea, it could easily see anything coming its way, unless Mr. Interpol had a submarine hidden somewhere. Though there were a fair number of them about the Black Sea area during the older wars—Russian subs, if Elladan remembered correctly-- there certainly wasn't any now.

Finn Baggins caught his tone, just as he caught what Anatalia Craxi had said. It wasn't really supposed to be such a surprise—he knew they were in trouble from earlier this night, he knew, even though no one explicitly said what was happening aboard the _Amazona_, he knew from their faces and also from their silence.

_He's going to kill them_, the woman had said, and then there it was, that bit of quiet breaking in his heart and spirit, as if the hurt was unexpected.

"I want to speak with him," said Finn, "The one who wants the Ankh. I want to speak with him."

"There will be no reasoning or moral appeals with that man, Frodo," said Elladan, "That I can guarantee. Things are better off this way."

Sean Malcolm was pacing next to the window, his boots making dull sounds on the thin carpet, coins and keys and other miscellaneous things in his pockets making clinking sounds. The door to the room opened and he halted to find the second group had just arrived.

Elrohir was on his cellphone, and his comm. link was on Pippin's ear and collar. The young Brit's forehead was creased with worry and some anger. The old wizard stood next to him with a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. On the wizard's other side was Bob Baggins, who was looking at Sean Malcolm darkly.

"I have to use the john," said Sean, and he emptied out his clinking pockets on the nightstand, before scurrying away.

Elladan opened the door that linked their two reserved rooms, to create more space. But people seemed loathe to depart the place where everything was happening, the place around the laptop. They made for quite a crowd in that narrow space, and Finn Baggins sat on a corner of the bed, a nightstand on one side and Sam beside him on the other. He glanced at the things Sean Malcolm left on the table. Some coins, some keys, his cellphone.

"If I can't find a way," Finn said quietly, mostly to himself although undoubtedly Sam heard too, "No one can."

He reached for Dr. Malcolm's cellphone, rose to his feet and discreetly walked over to the adjoining room. Looking perplexed, Sam followed him.

" " "

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Dean Malcolm was last to leave his cousin's room, so desperate was he to believe that his Ankh was in there, somewhere. One by one, the mercenaries abandoned the rummaging after they realized all too quickly that the search was futile.

He sat amidst the mess of clothes and papers, frustrated tears drowning his eyes. He wondered with more than a bit of depression, how it was that he managed to take himself to this place. When did he turn, he wondered, when did he decide to become that which he never once thought he could ever be? A thief, a traitor… He was a scholar, an academic. Life was supposed to be simple. He found interest and joy in the barest of things—rocks, soil, a pile of dust… teaching, sharing that passion. How did he become a selfish rat?

There was pride, he supposed. There always was. To be in the bandwagon of a _mere_ student of his… the realization that he had no true achievement that immortalized him. He wanted that Great Find, like what Bob Baggins accomplished. That speech was his to make, those jokes, that applause. That was his. No one else's. It was just ill-luck, bad timing… life was unfair. It could have been his… If he wasn't going to get the fame, he thought, he might as well get the fortune.

And so he betrayed Baggins, collaborated with his curiously desperate bidder and backer, Grissom Warrington. And then he himself was in turn betrayed. He's learned of a multitude of cultures and superstitions. He just didn't know that _karma_ worked quite so fast.

His cellphone was ringing in his pocket, and it tore him from his thoughts. Who'd be calling now, he wondered as he drew it out. He forgot about his self-reproaching meditations when the call was registered as coming from Sean Malcolm.

He answered it right away, almost as quickly as his guilt turned into annoyance.

"You scheming filth," he said at once, "You took it, we both know that. Now where the hell is it, Sean? Where the bloody hell is it—"

"Dr. Malcolm?" the melodious voice from the other end of the line said, "It's me, sir. Finn Baggins."

" " "

The Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

"What in the world are you doing?" Sam whispered urgently, and Finn made placating gestures at him, imploring him to calm down, not wanting to alert the others in the adjoining room of what he was doing.

But there were never any secrets from elven ears. Finn's eyes drifted up behind Sam, and there stood the twins, looking at him with burning eyes, as if they did not quite know what to do with him.

"Let me do this," said Finn, "If I can't find a way, no one can."

Elrohir winced. He's heard about that. Funny that it was _grandmamma_ who once said that to the hobbit, and it was now the hobbit who was saying this to the elves.

"The Lord and the Lady," said Finn, a bit panicky, as he was confused for it seemed that _Frodo_ was fighting his way through memory; the Rivendell twins were certain he was referring to their father Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel, "They remind me of you, and they trusted me, they all did. I need you to trust me too."

" " "

Sick Bay,

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Dean Malcolm burst into the room, and guns swiveled his way from the startled mercenaries. He barely paid the danger any mind, and he was bearing cellphone before him as he jogged to Grima Wormtongue.

"It's the lad," said Dean, "It's him, he took it. He wants to deal with you."

Wormtongue's eyes lit up triumphantly, smirking at Aragorn.

"Frodo, don't!" the man cried, only to receive a butt of a rifle to his stomach for his trouble. He doubled over, breathless, and he was tossed almost casually Legolas' way. The two friends made for a bit of a weary heap on the ground, taking over the corner like discarded, dirty laundry.

"He wouldn't," Legolas said breathlessly to his friend, turbulent eyes searching for an answer he wanted to hear.

"What does your heart tell you?" Aragorn asked him in turn.

Legolas smiled at his old friend a little. Frodo will do the right thing, somehow. They had to believe it. The story of the Ring was always a very curious, winding and complicated one. That final, desperate assault of the Ring upon Frodo Baggins up in Mount Doom resulted in the young hobbit's refusal to destroy it, yes. And yes too, that it can be looked upon as failure. But perhaps its destruction was not his true test… Great deeds were meant to be done by great men, and there certainly was not anything outwardly great-seeming about a simple hobbit. His test, perhaps, was a more ordinary one, one that may be harder, but something that anyone at any time is called to do—that is, caring and mercy for someone like Gollum. And having Gollum there, up until the end, ultimately destroyed the Ring.

Frodo will do the right thing, yes, one way or another. And it made Legolas smile a bit wider.

_My heart tells me_, he thought, _We just might win_.

The _adan _did not hear the quiet thought of course, but the smile and the light in the weary elf's eyes was answer enough for him.

The pair let Grima Wormtongue have his momentary triumph. It most certainly will not last the night anyway.

" " "

The Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

They let him do as he wished.

There was wisdom to him that the pains only he could have known lent to his spirit, even now, even when he was yet to completely reclaim all the memories that once were Frodo Baggins'.

"I will give it to you," said Finn to Grima over the cellphone he 'borrowed' from Sean Malcolm, "But certain conditions must be met."

"State your terms," said Wormtongue.

"All hostages are to be freed and unharmed," said Finn, "And to the world do what you will, you'll have the power once you have this with you. But leave us all alone."

"That begs definition," Grima said coolly.

"You know what that means," countered Finn, "No hurting us anymore. Pretend we're dead, something like that. Let us have our peace. Seek us no longer."

"And you truly do not have a care for the rest of the world?" Grima asked, wondering what the catch was, thinking perhaps the boy was lying; he had something up his sleeve. But he knew no other way to progress, and so he dealt with the young man for now. To hell with all the promises he'd make, he wouldn't really have to keep them and there wasn't really anything wrong with that; it wasn't his fault the kid was lending himself so freely to deception…

"I do care," Finn said, "I just don't have all that much to do about it at the moment, so why bother."

"How do we go about this trade?" Grima asked.

"Leave everyone in the _Amazona_," said Finn, "All your hostages, leave them there. Take all your mercenaries with you. I will only believe that you've emptied the barge of all your forces, when one of my allies in there confirms it."

"You know I can't just free everyone and take your word on this," said Grima, "meet you somewhere, et cetera. I'd have given up my lever on you if I set them free before I get the Ankh. I know you're the good guy, but that's not the brand of trusting deals that I make. I'm not a goddamn fool."

"Then…" Finn hesitated, "Then bring one of them with you when we make the trade. Someone important."

"Hm…" Grima gave it a moment's thought, "All right. We'll do this your way, little man. Where shall we meet?"

"At the halfway point between the Sinop shore and the _Amazona_," said Finn, "Over sea. I'll bring a vessel, you can get there however which way you like. As a sign of my good faith, I'm telling you this must be done at sea because we cannot meet at the docks, it will be crawling with the authorities by the time we see each other. We will begin sailing to our meeting place the very moment we get confirmation that you've left the _Amazona_." He paused, "I… I wish to speak with Brad."

"I'm sorry, he's…" Grima sounded as if he was smiling a bit, "He can't talk right now."

"…Dead?" whispered Finn.

"Oh, no," Grima said at once, "I wouldn't have made that kind of a mistake. As much as possible, that is."

"I'd like to speak with…" oh gods, he couldn't remember their names, "One of them. I want to speak with…"

_Strider_.

_The man with the startling eyes._

_Strider is his name._

_ He's always there when you're afraid or uncertain._

_ If by his life he could protect you, he would…_

_ If by his death he could protect you, he would…_

_ And he just might, this night._

"Strider?" he said at last, unsure.

" " "

Sick Bay,

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Wormtongue leaned over Aragorn, and held the cellphone over the man's ear and mouth, keeping his own head close to hear the exchange.

"Frodo?" Aragorn called, and hoped with the inquiring tone he managed to convey not only the question regarding the caller's identity, but also what it was he was _doing_ too.

"Strider, Brad's okay?" Finn asked.

"Yes," Aragorn answered, "More or less."

"And you? How are you, Strider?" he seemed to have a bit of a time saying the name again and again, turning it over in his head, testing the feel of it in his mouth, the next few strings of Frodo Baggins making their way at last to his conscious knowing.

"I've been worse," Aragorn assured him, pausing, "Frodo, do not do anything you'd regret."

"I know," Finn breathed in, and when he exhaled, his uncertain tone changed altogether. "We will trade, him and I. All his mercenaries will leave the _Amazona_ and meet me at sea. But I will not meet with them unless I know for sure the people aboard the barge are safe. One of you will have to confirm it."

"… All right," Aragorn said after a beat, aching to know what the young man was planning, but Grima was beside him looking just as cautious; he made for a very sharp villain. Something was going on, they all knew it. And though he could do nothing but press forward, he was also wary.

"Time's up," said Grima, eyes narrowing in thought. He took the cellphone from the side of Aragorn's head and pressed it to his ear. "I'll see you in a few minutes, boy. You'd better not be screwing with me."

" " "

The Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

Finn ended the call, sighing and looking out the window as he sat on a corner of the bed. Cloudy eyes looked out over to defy the stormy clouds, challenging its turbulence. He felt eyes boring into his back. He did not care so much. It wasn't a new sensation.

He drew out the Ankh from his coat pocket, turned it over in his hands, fingers toying with its odd curves and corners, the curious break on the ring that topped the cross. He knew about it well enough, his uncle headed the expedition after all, and was never shy about his passions. The Ankh was just a great excitement to him, a great treasure. It was indeed beautiful, and heavy with rich history.

He ran the tips of his fingers over the _tau_ part, the cross that symbolized death. What fine craftsmanship. Someone's soul went into the work, there was little doubt of that. The long vertical stem of the cross flowed right up to the tear-shaped, ring that topped the _tau_. The break gave it a curious character. His Uncle said the material was unknown and seemingly unbreakable, yet here was this little gap that failed to complete the ring of life after death, as if the craftsman simply… stopped. It was unfinished work.

He felt a weight beside him. Bob sat there next to his nephew, staring at the Ankh in his hands.

"You will not give it up…?" the old man asked, made as if to reach and take it, except he held back his hand after a moment of thought, "It is not yours to…"

Finn stared back at him helplessly, but never relinquished his hold on the artifact. He did not have an answer.

"I suppose," said Elladan over the resulting silence, "I suppose we are headed for the sea, old friend. I do not know what you have in mind, but the fates and the ages have trusted you ages ago, and they felt it right to do so once again. Far be it for me to argue." He smiled a little, "You're going to need a skilled sailor."

"That would be me then," Elrohir piped in.

"Now _that_ I feel only right to argue, brother," said Elladan evenly, "I was first in line for this noble service. You can go drive the car."

"I'm going too," Sam said.

"I know," Elrohir and Elladan said wryly, at the same time.

"No one's going anywhere without us!" Mark Brandy exclaimed, bursting into the room, trailed by Pippin. The latter hobbit, who reclaimed his memories earlier that night, did not bother to relive the embarrassment of calling the Mission a _Thing_.

Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm decided to come too, loathe to leave the presence of the Ankh. And then of course Gandalf rounded up the team, while Anatalia stayed to man the laptop.

Elrohir's elvish warrior's senses wanted to argue the wisdom of bearing so much… 'luggage' with them, all these fellows who knew naught of battles and things. But there was always a time when one could not win by force alone, eh?

Besides… he absently counted all of them in his head, all of them who were going away, and his skin crawled. When the count came up to Nine and stopped there, he had a feeling he really didn't have any place to argue fate.

" " "

Sick Bay,

Deck C,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Legolas looked up blearily as Grima Wormtongue towered over him and Aragorn. The barge was bustling with mercenary activity. They were packing house. They were leaving. And well, because they were mercenaries, they were also taking quite a number of loot with them. Grima had his eyes on bearing some other treasure with him, and his malicious gaze settled on Aragorn.

"I get to take one of you with me," said Wormtongue, "Frodo Baggins remembered _you_. And I suppose… the Ankh for the King… that deal is not so disproportionate. Besides, the fall of the worlds has always belonged partly to the blood of your forebears. Isildur's heir… this fall of yours, Elessar, for the world to pay for _you_, has long been in wait.

"Say your goodbye's," Grima continued, "I have a feeling young Mr. Baggins is going to play a goddamn game with me, and you're going to go pay. But we'll see. I'm hoping he'll be more reasonable. But there should always be contingencies." He turned his back on them and walked away.

"When they take me away," said Aragorn to Legolas, "Do not struggle, all right? You can't win. And Frodo has a plan of his own that I intend to respect."

"What makes you think I'd bother?" the elf asked wryly, wincing as he shifted to a more comfortable position. "I'd likely win, though, if I did try to save you from yourself."

"You're one to speak," Aragorn said gently, "Truly elf, you're so much trouble. You're all over the walls and the floor…"

"Yes, well," said Legolas breezily, "that's just… logistics. I wish to go where you're going. I turn my back on you one second and things start happening. I'm not as young as I used to be, you'll give me gray hairs."

"You were _never_ as young as you used to be," Aragorn said, eyes glistening, "Take care, my friend. And I cannot tend you now, but don't think you can just… just sleep off a gunshot wound like that or something. Have it seen to by Yavi, or Faramir. Somebody."

"The blasted modern hospitals will want to give me blood transfusions," Legolas growled, "The first time I was shot on the leg at the job, I didn't even lose this much and they wanted to _refill_ me. I find transfusions a bit… _macabre._"

"Well they are very necessary," the pert and inextricable healer in Aragorn snapped distractedly before he added, "They'd have tested your blood and seen you were different before they did anything like that though," Aragorn said wistfully, wondering if someone else out there knew that Legolas was not quite human.

"I said my religion prohibited invasive medical procedures," Legolas said with a sick smile, "And I was awake, so I signed no consent. I love the politically correct world. Healers nowadays, unlike you, my friend, actually ask permission. Else they get sued. You'd best be careful. Bull-headed Aragorn has to have some of the cautious reserve of Adrian Aarons…"

The mention of the doctor's name dulled the elf's humor a little. His eyes dimmed, and Aragorn caught it easily.

"You regret," the _adan_ said quietly.

"It's my fault," the elf said after a long, thoughtful pause.

"It is, isn't it?" Aragorn teased him, but he was certainly not in the mood. The glacial eyes were morose and broken.

"I'm all of us all at once," Aragorn assured him, seriously now.

"But I cannot help think as if some part of you died," Legolas said, "Adrian Aarons' cares were less, you see. He is like you, without all of the… the crueler history, the grander responsibility."

"You forget," Aragorn smiled, "It was a glorious, beautiful and loving history too, my friend. You take the good with the bad. As in all things. You've given me a gift in seeking me, in wishing for my recollections."

"You have to leave soon," Legolas said quietly, "And we might both perish this night. But you have to know… if you had stayed as Adrian Aarons, if you simply loathed me and regarded me only as the shatterer of your life's peace… even if you did not awaken, I'd still have given my life for you. Always. You'll never change it. I'd never have loved you any less, brother."

"I know," Aragorn said jauntily, then smiled as he gently added, "That is why I'm here."

And then he wasn't anymore. Because they bore him away.

" " "

The Mess Hall,

Deck B,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

"They are leaving," Emmett said to his sister and… and _brother-in-law_, he supposed. The mercenaries around them were rushing about, packing their things, apparently in the middle of a cautious retreat.

"I do not regard that as good," said Eowyn, "Perhaps they've found what they've been seeking."

"Perhaps aid has come," Faramir countered hopefully, "You can only highjack a barge this large with so many people inside for so long. I'm considering if we should take the chance to strike, now that they are so preoccupied."

"No," said Eowyn, "Something is happening. Let the line run long. Something is happening, we have to know what it is first."

She, Eomer and Faramir, along with the other captives of the _Amazona_, watched the bustling mercenaries warily and silently. The very air was going to burst all around them, a great event eager to feed on the tension and burn the place down.

The Mess Hall eventually emptied out of mercenaries, and the hostages all stood there looking at each other uncertainly.

" " "

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Two men dragged Aragorn between them, their grips tight about his arms even though he suddenly and uncharacteristically made for a very complacent captive.

Grima Wormtongue walked just ahead of the trio, and all around them the other mercenaries were scurrying around like busy black bugs atop the rain-pelted ways of the _Amazona_'s sundeck.

Apparently, Frodo was giving up the Ankh if Grima Wormtongue emptied the _Amazona_ of his men, and Grima was complying. But not wanting to lose his leverage on the young man, Wormtongue kept one valuable hostage with him to ensure the ex-hobbit keeps his end of the deal—- Aragorn. A seemingly fair deal, the man in question thought, but Grima was actually getting the short end of the stick; to keep the Ankh in Frodo's hands, to prevent the trade, was a cause he was not unwilling to die for.

But as he was being led to one of the helicopters, he noticed that the scurrying mercenaries were not just packing up their equipment and their loot. His heart hammered and he held his ground, struggling suddenly with his captors.

"_I have a feeling young Mr. Baggins is going to play a goddamn game with me, and you're going to go pay. But we'll see. I'm hoping he'll be more reasonable. But there should always be contingencies…"_

Grima turned to face him, having heard the trouble he was making as he once again turned hostile.

"There should always be contingencies," he said again, a gleam in his eye. He was not just talking about killing Elessar if the hobbit did not hold up to his end of the deal.

The mercenaries were also lining the _Amazona_ with explosives, and Grima Wormtongue was holding the switch.

" " "

The Mess Hall,

Deck B,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Eowyn, Faramir and Emmett were cautiously making for the double doors that marked the entry into the Mess Hall when it suddenly opened with the arrival of a limping, bloodied Legolas of Mirkwood.

"Oh for god's sakes," Emmett breathed, both with the surprise of the new arrival, and then his haggard appearance. He and Faramir shot forward to support him as Eowyn held his face in her hands.

"I need a comm.," Legolas said, not wanting to entertain any questions, not believing they had much time, "A cellphone, anything. And Faramir. Go to Sick Bay, your brother. He's been shot."

The man's grip tightened upon the elf's hand almost spasmodically, ancient pains crossing his eyes, a much despised tragedy creasing his features.

"He lives," Legolas assured him quickly, almost embarrassed with the heart attack he nearly caused and certainly apologetic, "He is well taken care of, a doctor is there to look after him. But I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you," Faramir said in a breath, before giving his wife a subtle nod and jogging away to see to his beloved older brother. Eowyn he apparently had no qualms about leaving to her own devices, and the wordless trust was one that lent fire to the weary and bruised Shieldmaiden.

"I am wondering why you are not seen to by a doctor yourself," she said to the elf sternly.

"Later," Legolas said, "I need a comm."

"Eunice, go find any of those devices," Emmett instructed his sister, "I'll see Leland to a chair."

Eowyn nodded and ran off to do as was bid. The two fellows watched her retreating back before they struggled to a cafeteria table. Legolas sat on the table surface rather than on the narrow benches.

"The _Amazona_ is emptied of the mercenary forces," Legolas said with a wince as Emmett relinquished his jacket and pressed it to the elf's gunshot wound. "Finn Baggins is making a trade of some sorts. The safety of us all here in the _Amazona_ and Aragorn, in exchange for the Ankh. Wormtongue fulfilled his end of the deal partway by leaving, but he brought Aragorn with him and will free our old friend once he is given the artifact."

Emmett's forehead creased in worry, "Are we to stop Finn Baggins from pushing through with this? From how all this sounds, I do not think we can afford to lose the Ankh."

"I think our young friend is planning something," said Legolas, "I know not what. I only know to trust him, as I always have. But we must find out if there is something more we can do to help."

"Indeed," Emmett murmured, pausing in thought as he noticed that the other hostages were staring at them. "It seems your barge has been freed," he said to them, "Perhaps you wish to reclaim your bridge and inform the proper authorities."

Emmett was of course, a stranger they knew nothing about. But there was no questioning that he was one of the very few who was actually knowledgeable of the profoundly bizarre situation, so they did as he asked them to. It was only the ship's captain who stopped before him and Legolas and asked, _"Who _in all of bloodyhell_ are you people?"_

"I'm Detective Leland Greene with the LAPD," said Legolas swiftly, the lie coming along easily since it's been his second skin for years now, "I was on vacation until I found myself in the middle of a situation my training and services could remedy. This is Emmett Rigare, my associate. We are working in conjunction with Interpol and their representative Agent Harding. If your communications officer can get me in touch with him, I would be very grateful."

"Follow me to my bridge," the captain said, before glancing at the other's haggard appearance and frowning in skepticism.

"I'll manage," Legolas assured him coolly, getting to his feet with that compulsive, stubborn jutting of his proud princely chin. Father figures tended to court that streak of stubborn defiance in him.

Not wanting to cramp his style, Emmett bit his tongue and pressed a discreet, supporting hand beneath the elf's elbow, just in case.

" " "

The Bridge,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

" " "

Eowyn was redirected to the bridge after she found their previously confiscated comm. links. Because the mercenaries looted the barge, she considered herself lucky to have even found them. The cellphones, which were more marketable, were naturally already a lost cause.

She ran to the Mess Hall to find it emptied of her friends, and was told that they headed to the bridge with the Captain of the _Amazona_. She headed that way in a jog, as her deft hands slipped on the comm. links.

"This is Eowyn, over," she said breathlessly, "Can anyone read?"

"Loud and clear," said Anatalia Craxi over the comm., "It is very good to hear from you at last."

"The mercenaries have cleared the _Amazona_," said Eowyn, "What in the world is happening and where is everybody?" she asked, and a lengthy silence permeated the other end of the line, making the Rohan woman frown with worry. "Is someone dead?"

Some hesitation from Anatalia, before a quiet, unthreatening scratchy kind of sound was made over the airwaves, and the Italian woman lied and said to Eowyn that she will reply later, for the lines were breaking up.

This of course, worried Eowyn even more. She quickened her steps and entered the bridge of the _Amazona_ in a mad hurry. There, she found Legolas leaning over the communications console heavily with Emmett beside him. He was speaking to Haldir, she realized, for she recognized the Interpol Agent's voice in the speaker system. Apparently, the captain wanted to find out what in the world was happening. But of course, the ever-clever Legolas was foiling him by using his native Elvish tongue. She did not understand what they were saying, and Legolas' careful, stern expression concealed only too well what he was thinking or feeling.

" " "

'So he is arranging a trade,' Legolas said, after Haldir apprised him of the situation.

'Yes,' the ex-elf replied, 'Of sorts anyway. No one's quite sure what he's up to, but we're letting him have the free hand. I am unafraid.'

'Good,' said Legolas, 'I think. And so how is everybody?'

'Anatalia Craxi has the laptop,' said Haldir, 'She is in the hotel, the wretched girl, warm and likely comfortable. Goran and myself, we are soaking up the rain at the docks and managing a nightmare of a team comprised of some of my local contacts, the port authorities, policemen, some representatives from the armed forces, and some paramedics just in case, not to mention the irrepressible media. That barge being in the middle of the Black Sea is also creating a diplomatic nightmare, not just a logistical one. No one's quite sure which country owns the territory. It is much difficult to storm than I first thought. Imagine the kind of threat a fleet of ships and aircraft will create if we do not properly coordinate with the various countries that surround the Black Sea. But the delay is just as well. Frodo needs the time to do what he thinks he must.'

'So he is on a ship right now?' asked Legolas, 'Ready for the trade?'

'Elladan said to me that the nine of them _borrowed_ a ship from a smaller dock,' replied Haldir, 'they're just awaiting a signal that Wormtongue has done as he promised and left the _Amazona_. A signal that just came from Eowyn, I understand. She reclaimed your comm. links.'

It was the first time Legolas raised his head from staring at the communications console, and indeed, Eowyn was standing there with a comm. link wired to her ears and collar, and a few more in her hands.

'It will not be of very much use to us,' said Legolas, 'Since Wormtongue has a pair and can hear of all that we say.'

'Ensure that your other companions know this,' Haldir reminded them, 'Nothing of importance must be said over the links.'

'Of course,' Legolas said, sighing, 'Well. You are stuck there, I am stuck here, and life is unfolding beyond us. I suppose the best that the rest of us can do right now is to sit back and watch this unfold.'

'I never thought I'd hear you say something like that,' Haldir said wistfully.

'Nor did I,' Legolas said with some surprise over his own realization. 'Well. The _Amazona_ has been freed. I suppose there is less of an urgency for your nightmare team--'

"Sir!" a young midshipman practically brought the doors down in his haste to enter the bridge and speak with his captain. "Sir, you have to see this. The sundeck. The sundeck!—"

"Calm down," his captain advised him coolly, though the manic look about the young man's eyes was sending some panic into him as well.

"Explosives!" the man exclaimed, breathless. "Sundeck. Explosives!"

'I spoke too soon,' Legolas said to Haldir, almost casually, as if disaster was perennially just around the corner and should therefore be expected after all, 'Did you hear?'

'Yes,' said the Interpol Agent, 'I will prioritize sending evacuation teams first, and then bomb squads. Try to silence that panicking boy, keep everyone calm, keep them from unthinkingly and hurryingly abandoning ship. I suspect for Wormtongue to make those explosives an actual threat, he had to have ensured you couldn't get out of the barge. Be wary of setting off any traps with the lifeboats. Tell everyone to touch nothing. Check things out first. Trust only yourself, I'm sure you know basically what to look for.'

'It was in my training, yes,' Legolas breathed.

'Be careful,' Haldir advised.

'And you.'

They ended the conversation in this way, and the elf sighed and wondered at the fates that, just when he's resigned himself to helplessness, courted his action. The Valar are a playful lot. Maybe even a bit insane. But that was their business. He had his own work to do.

Legolas pushed himself from the console. He was weary and hurting, but the body will have to hold out the night.

"Sundeck?" he asked of the midshipman.

"Yes," the young man replied, gulping as he belatedly added, profoundly uncertain of who he was addressing, "Sir."

Legolas nodded and began to walk after him. To Eowyn, he tried to say in the bits and pieces of Rohan's intricate language that he knew, 'Say nothing of importance over the links. There are unwelcome ears.'

" " "

They naturally found him drastically less cooperative after he saw Grima Wormtongue's 'contingency plan.' But they were too near to their destination, too strong and too many, for his struggles to have any real fruit.

To say that he was _manhandled_ into the helicopter was a vast understatement. Dazed and hurt, before he knew it, they were taking to the skies, and the _Amazona_ was a blip beneath his booted feet.

_It looks so small_, he thought distractedly, watching the barge defy the waves and the winds of the seas that was surely already harsh enough with the tides of the night, with or without that evening's compounding, relentless storm.

"They've fallen silent," Grima said suddenly over the din of the whirring rotors, and Aragorn looked up at him. The villain was speaking of the comm. links, and how it was no longer being used by the new fellowship.

"You should not be surprised," Aragorn pointed out.

"Yes, well," Grima sighed melodramatically, "You are right. To have used it while your enemy listens is a tactical stupidity, especially if you're plotting against him. But I had hoped that Mr. Baggins would make things simpler. Trade, no deception, no alternative plans." He looked at Aragorn with some irony, "Ah, yes. Villains hope too."

"I never doubted," Aragorn said, pausing before adding a bit wistfully, "But you cannot win, you know this, don't you? One way or another…"

Grima stared at him a long while. "I've… I've pondered it, yes. I am not so blind. But I am too near to victory. I cannot not try. It is this blasted, cursed life, you see. Can I not simply say I was made thus, just as you were made to be a hero? Can we not all simply blame the cursed gods for putting us here? I feel so thrown. And this life must be absurd. You could have been me, and I could have been you. We both live on the whim of someone else. Can I change the fates? I doubt. After I've recovered my memories, I realized I was trudging the same goddamn path. But I cannot not try to move away from it. That last life was not so great."

"This one you are presently living is not much better," Aragorn pointed out.

"Do not try and convert me," scoffed Grima, "You are insulting my intelligence. Curious, this life. Truly. Do you not think so, Elessar? Can I change destiny, I wonder. Can you? Can anyone? Does this mean that the choices we make along the course of our lives stand for nothing, because one way or another, we are headed a certain way? Were you therefore born good, and me born evil? I sound melodramatic but it must be plain to see that it seems unfair.

"Or perhaps…" he continued, intent eyes never straying from Aragorn's captive stare, "Perhaps we are born the same, and indeed choices matter. But do we all start from zero, and build a life from there, whether for good or ill? Or do we start with a hundred, destined toward the gods and heavens and goodness, until we fuck ourselves down to hell? I hate this life. But there is comfort yet."

"And where does this lie?" Aragorn asked.

"One way or another, it will end for me tonight," said Grima, "Either with the sleep of death and defeat, or the victory that will ultimately prove I've changed my path." He paused, took a deep breath, and looked down to the seas below. Down at the humble ship that awaited them. Down at Frodo's ship. Where the Ankh was.

"Ah," he said with a sick smile, "Here we are."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! Sorry for the long wait… it's a long chapter at least!!! I'm working on chapter 40 and am about ¾ of the way done with my 20-page afterword :) I hope you like how the story is moving, and I'm always very excited when I'm almost done.

MASSIVE THANKS for the c&c's… I've never had this much before and I really hope I don't disappoint anybody. I'm certainly working my hardest :) Watch out for more detailed thanks and replies in my afterword.

'TIL THE NEXT POST GUYS, and keep the c&c's coming if you can, I know we're all pressed for time :)


	40. One Life

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

* * *

40: One Life

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea,

Mid-2004

* * *

_"It is this blasted, cursed life, you see. Can I not simply say I was made thus, just as you were made to be a hero? Can we not all simply blame the cursed gods for putting us here? I feel so thrown. And this life must be absurd. You could have been me, and I could have been you. We both live on the whim of someone else. Can I change the fates? I doubt. After I've recovered my memories, I realized I was trudging the same goddamn path. But I cannot not try to move away from it. That last life was not so great…_

_"…Curious, this life. Truly. Do you not think so, Elessar? Can I change destiny, I wonder. Can you? Can anyone? Does this mean that the choices we make along the course of our lives stand for nothing, because one way or another, we are headed a certain way? Were you therefore born good, and myself born evil? I sound melodramatic but it must be plain to see that it seems unfair…"_

Eowyn, having one of the comm. links on her ears, heard what Grima Wormtongue said clearly enough. He's always been nothing but poison to her. A traitor, a saboteur, a blight upon the face of the land. And yet she listened with some sympathy, and found herself wondering if her heart could one day understand, if not out rightly forgive, after all.

How will the night unfold, she wondered. It seemed so long. So many things have changed, that even the way she looked upon one of the men she truly considered as a great foe was changed too.

There was no excuse for villainy, there never was. But the helpless feeling was no stranger to her, that thrownness, the absurdity. Perhaps… perhaps one life is not enough to understand it all. She was certainly learning new things, even though she's been through all of this at least once before. Grima, he might just learn too.

Her eyes drifted to Legolas of Mirkwood. The immortal certainly understands that the years will always bring about new learning, past all the things we think we know. She's watched him, wondering what it was like, and certainly not wanting to find out first hand—that is, by harsh experience—as he has.

Elves are a wonder, they always have been. Some men envy them for living forever, and some of them, perhaps even the prince himself, envied men for having a definitive end. She's watched him. He looked upon all of them with great love and likely some inalienable annoyance too. As if he wasn't quite sure what to do with the lot of them. As if he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

The elven prince, at the moment, was contemplating a more pressing problem, however. He looked rather bedraggled standing out in the ironically named sundeck in the midst of the persistent rain. His eyes were burning with both steely determination and inextricable, almost petty annoyance, as he wondered why in all of Arda were things never simple.

The deck was indeed cleverly wired with explosives. And yes, the movies were lying when they claimed it was just a matter of cutting through the red wire or the blue wire or whatever new colored wire they were thinking of. The work on the bombs aboard the _Amazona_ was almost intricate, all these multi-colored wires lining the railings, unabashedly threatening, their cruel maker not even bothering to conceal them.

"We must abandon ship," the Captain of the _Amazona_, standing beside Legolas, gasped.

"No," the elf insisted, "Let us not be hasty."

"Hasty?!" the Captain exclaimed, incredulous, as he followed the detective who was dragging himself over to the nearest lifeboat. Legolas slowly lowered himself to a knee, and peered below the lifeboat. He grimaced, even as he already knew what he would find there. He motioned for the Captain to do the same, pointing to a small, concealed mine sitting pertly along the side of the lifeboat.

"The explosives on the sundeck are meant to kill us," said Legolas, "These… these are meant to kill us sooner, if we are not careful."

The Captain grumbled in agreement, unused to being wrong. The old man rose to his feet swiftly, saying he will arrange for the entire deck to be vacated and guarded, not to be touched. Legolas watched him go, still on one knee on the ground, wondering how in the world he was going to get up. His body felt as if it was not his at all. The mind was doing flip-flops, but the flesh that encased it was being very uncooperative.

Emmett beside him offered him a hand, and hauled him up without ceremony. "I don't suppose," the man said to the elf, "You'd count diffusing bombs as one amongst your multitude of talents."

"I'm sorry," Legolas said wryly, "No, not this one. But my life is long, it was next on my list. The mines I tried during the wars but…" he glanced at his trembling hands, "I am not at all so steady at the moment."

"Well," Eowyn said, "We'd best try and make that life a bit longer, don't you think, my lord? You are apparently helpless in remedying this situation, you might as well come with me below decks to Sick Bay, where my husband is."

"Justly so," agreed Legolas grudgingly, "Haldir's teams will arrive soon, and I have no plans of looking quite so…" he looked down upon his soiled clothes with dismay, "… in need of medical attention."

Indeed, he could not afford their invasive procedures, with his identity to protect. The way he looked at it, all he needed was a rag to clean up the blood, some fresh clothes, someone to dig out the slug from his leg and suture it, and he'd look… well, he'd look…

_Just about as good or bad as anyone else here tonight_, he mused, for Eowyn's bruised face was peering at him worriedly, and Emmett did not look so sharp either. They all looked like a bunch of drowned rats, he thought, and he had a distinct feeling he fit right in.

* * *

_Another Commandeered Putt-Putt_,

The Black Sea

* * *

The storms and the waves were making such fantastic noises that it was only by virtue of the sharpness of elven hearing that Elladan and Elrohir knew that company was coming; a helicopter was descending over their _borrowed_ ship.

"They are right above you," Anatalia said after a beat, speaking with Elladan on his cellphone. They've left their comm. links behind, for the devices have outlived their purpose since Grima managed to keep one for himself. Ana, from the laptop she manned in the hotel room in Sinop, therefore tracked only the comm. link that was with Grima Wormtongue to see where he was.

"Are you ready, old friend?" Elrohir asked the pensive young Finn Baggins, who was standing beside him on the bridge and staring out at the world that lay beyond the glass of the view port. In his hands he clutched the source of all their troubles, the Black Sea Ankh. Elrohir's brows creased in worry, seeing that the young man's ring finger was inserted quite comfortably in the broken loop that topped the _tau_ of death. He looked up at Gandalf, who was standing on Finn's other side, and the wizard stared back at him with clouded, thoughtful eyes.

"Does it not call to you?" Finn asked suddenly, quietly.

"Well…" Elrohir considered, looking down at the Ankh, "It's certainly very well-crafted. But I wouldn't say so, no."

"Is it not supposed to?" Finn asked, "That's how the tale goes, isn't it?"

"Well," Elrohir replied, smiling a bit, "I guess I was never quite… single-minded enough to know what to do with it, so I guess you can say having all that power never had so great an appeal…" his voice trailed off, noticing he could not court a smile from the serious young fellow. "It is indeed supposed to."

"That's what I thought," Finn said, taking a deep breath.

"The call is not always so strong or discernable," said Pippin from somewhere behind them, "At the start. Save for… certain folk."

"I never thought I'd say this along the course of my life," said Gandalf heavily, "But Peregrin Took is right."

The hobbit in question grinned. "Your approval has always been my life's mission, Gandalf."

"You've always known it for its power," Finn said to the wizard, "Am I right? Does it call to you at all, then?"

The wizard pondered the question, pondered the young man beside him. "No, it does not."

"Does it call to _you_?" Sam Granger asked suddenly, grave voice heavy with unconscious history, unconscious knowing. It was clear to whom the question was addressed, just as it was clear to those who knew the story precisely why Sam should ask this of Frodo. There was some defeat there, some loss of hope, the loss of the most admirable attributes of a much-beloved friend. It came with a hideously long and trying journey, and at last standing at the very precipice of either a stunning victory, or a heartbreaking defeat. And then a choice was made, and it was an unexpected, disappointing one. Tonight… tonight perhaps a choice of similar relevance was being made too.

"I only wish to be rid of it," Finn said quietly, determinedly.

Gandalf looked at the pair with some thought, narrowing his eyes, and wondering what all of this was beginning to mean. The Ankh did not call upon a wielder's single-minded desire as the One Ring did. Yes, Grima pursued it, but it was only because he perceived them to be one and the same. Yes, the scholars pursued it, but it was difficult to set the line between the madness of lethal wanting and the quest of their ambition and academic genius. Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps the Ankh was not all what they thought it was…

"_It's a combination or development of the t-shaped cross—a tau-- which symbolizes death," said Bilbo just earlier that night, "attached to the sign of re-birth. So the ankh, in its wide range of meanings, not just indicates life; it specifically symbolizes _life after death_. Because it is often held by the gods in the manner of one holding a key, you can say it is they Key between Life and Death."_

_"But it looks broken," someone pointed out._

And indeed it was, as Gandalf stared at the loop of the Ankh, wound about Finn Baggins' ring finger as he clutched the artifact tightly.

_"'Tis not broken," Bob Baggins said evenly, "It was _unfinished_, it seems. The lines are smooth and gradual, but this material cannot be melted because of its strength, and if it was indeed broken or snapped, the years could not have tempered the edges at the points where it broke because we found this in the anoxic layer of the Black Sea, where nothing decays. And so we have concluded that _the work is unfinished. As if a master artist was interrupted, or halted…

_An unfinished work_, the wizard reflected, suddenly finding the heart to smile, _An unfinished work_…

He pressed an assuring palm upon Finn Baggins' shoulder, "Well then, my clever boy. Do as you will. Do as you will!"

* * *

A Helicopter,

Over the Black Sea

* * *

Grima Wormtongue was giddy with anticipation. It was that sick smile upon that pallid, pasty face. He rubbed his hands together greedily, hungrily. "Here we are," he said again, "Here we are."

Aragorn watched him, wordless and silent. They sat across from each other, Aragorn between two burly mercenaries that made for a rather tight ride, and Grima solely and indulgently occupying the bench across.

The helicopter was not a particularly large one. Black and sleek, it carried roundabouts of eight men, this one in particular bearing just six; the pilot and co-pilot at the bridge, and Wormtongue, Aragorn, and the two most imposing of the mercenaries flanking him inside the cabin. The compact aircraft made for a shaky ride with the winds of the storm, but it pressed on hardily, with little indication of-- as Aragorn fleetingly hoped for a few moments ago—any trouble handling the skies and crashing down and killing all of them…

He sighed inwardly, quietly. Since that was unfortunately not an option, he raked his mind for some other way of removing himself and the other hostages as a lever to be used against Frodo's considerable heart.

He watched, as one of the mercenaries pulled open the cabin door, letting in sheets of the rain and the wind. The vessel beneath them was a small one, and there was no possibility of landing atop it. And so a rope ladder was lowered, and the helicopter began to descend as low as they dared.

* * *

_Another Commandeered Putt-Putt,_

The Black Sea

* * *

Save for the bridge-bound Elladan who was controlling the ship, all of them waited on the vessel's sundeck. They looked up at the helicopter defying the winds above them, slowly descending toward the ship, with a rope ladder from her cabin trying to find its way to the deck.

"I can see Aragorn from here," Elrohir said with some relief, "He seems well. He looks…"

_And here's where 'some relief' ends and where my more familiar life as a mischief-maker's loving and overburdened brother begins_, he thought nervously, saying, "He looks… he looks like he's up to something."

"Aragorn will never let the Ring or its like be bartered for his life," Gandalf said.

"But the Black Sea Ankh is harmless, isn't it?" said Pippin, "Grima can have it. He can eat it, for all we should care."

"He doesn't know that," Elrohir pointed out gravely, watching his brother's taut, determined face.

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

Legolas, Jimmy Goran and the Captain of the _Amazona_ flanked Agent Horace Harding of Interpol, and miscellaneous activity moved about all around them. A multi-racial, multi-functional force of paramedics, policemen, soldiers, bomb squads and various other classifications of staff has taken over the _Amazona_.

A group handled the disarming of the mines, as another worked on diffusing the bombs. A contingent of soldiers raked the barge to ensure there it was emptied below decks, and to check if there was other traps aboard. And then another group supervised evacuation, herding the skeleton crew of the barge into helicopters, and some into ships that anchored beside the _Amazona_ precisely to rescue passengers and take them away from the ticking time-bomb of a ship.

The Captain of the _Amazona_ was her official chief, and following the tradition he was staunchly unwilling to compromise, he was set to be the last man to abandon her. But for all intents and purposes, outside of the fact that he could not convince the Captain to evacuate, it was Horace Harding of Interpol who was running the show.

Haldir watched the events unfold before him, and at his bidding coolly, so calm and controlled he was almost detached. Every once in awhile, he'd spot someone doing something he did not approve of, and he'd bark an order in the language of the dissident-- no small feat, since the _Amazona_'s rescue teams comprised of Turks, Romanians, Bulgarians, Polish, even some Russians from the surrounding countries of the Black Sea.

'And you,' Haldir said at last to Legolas beside him, in Elvish of course, for he was a dissident of some other language of his own, 'Should get the hell away from here. You're looking very tidy, my prince, but do not think I've missed the limping and the wincing.'

The Mirkwood elf frowned. Yes, Doctor Yavi, Eowyn, Emmett and Faramir did a good job of making him look presentable. Indeed, by the time he stepped out of Sick Bay to greet Haldir and Goran and the troops they bore with them to secure the _Amazona_, he looked no worse (or no better!) than his other bruised and battered friends. But there was never any fooling with Haldir of Lothlorien.

'If you can get the dwarf away, I'll follow,' Legolas replied, challenging, knowing that even a formidable Haldir was sticks and stones to a stubbornness in Gimli Son of Gloin (and therefore, within Jimmy Goran as well) that was not just by virtue of being a dwarf, but was actually an ingrained aspect of his character no one knows the origins of, or no one really knows what to do with.

Haldir glanced at the burly hacker and kept his mouth shut, knowing to pick his battles.

Emmett Rigare walked toward them, standing with them. He looked over the activities on the sundeck for a long moment, and then his gaze turned beyond it and toward the seas. It was too dark and turbulent to see what lay there, but he imagined Aragorn, and Wormtongue, and their other friends so clearly it was as if their outlines were just there.

"I suppose you can say the battle here is over," he said wistfully, "And another is about to begin."

Legolas glanced at him, said nothing. It was true; the _Amazona _was by now relatively safe. Evacuations were well in order, and the bomb squads were making good progress too. Now if anything untoward should happen, should the bomb squads fail, the _Amazona _stood in the middle of the sea, and as long as she was empty of people, held no real threat to anybody.

Now, he wondered how the others were faring. It's been so long, since he's come into battles blind, not knowing what his comrades were up to, not knowing if they were even still alive. This latest misadventure of his pressed him back to the insane worries of those dark days. But if he's been taught one thing in this particular misadventure, it was to trust. Not to trust that his friends will do their jobs; he's always trusted them to do the right thing. What he truly learned was to trust in the hands of the gods. Fate brought them together, and fate can tear them apart. But he hoped not so soon, not this night, not after everything.

"How's Brad?" Goran asked suddenly, wresting him from his reverie. "You said he'll survive?"

"Yes," Legolas replied with a bewildered smile, for the realization was warming and mildly surprising. He never thought he'd ever stand at the very door of victory and have Boromir, in a sense, stand with him. There was danger afoot still, of course, but the barest possibility was exhilarating him.

"He's been evacuated," said Emmett, "I was just there. Fred refused to be taken from his side, and my sister refused to be torn from _his_ side. And I'm here because I'm just the frowning, disapproving older brother and they ran out of space for me in the helicopter. I don't care who they think they once were, they're not yet married in this life, damn it."

"I'd want to attend a wedding in the spring," Haldir murmured gamely, not shy about adding fire to the flame. Emmett, ever-protective of his sister, held no personal grudges against Faramir and was apparently annoyed only out of principle.

"Yes well," breathed Legolas, "Let us see tonight through first."

* * *

A Helicopter,

Over the Black Sea

* * *

Aragorn's eyes raked over Wormtongue's form.

He saw the switch to the bombs on their way to the helicopter earlier, when they were departing the _Amazona_. When he fought against his captors, so irked was he over the deception that in afterthought should not have been a surprise after all, he was subdued and hurt and dazed, such that he lost track of where it was.

His eyes searched for the switch hungrily. Because he was who he was, naturally Aragorn had something else up his sleeve, aside from simply hoping the helicopter would come to a crash. He'd never risk that the Ankh would be given up just for his life to be saved. He'd die first.

The waters and the waves were churning below them, and he knew that he just might…

But he cannot jump, and take himself out of the equation, remove himself as a lever against Frodo, without bringing that switch to the bombs aboard the _Amazona_ down with him and away from Grima's grasp. Because to die without it was useless, since Grima had more hostages to peg against the Ankh.

The light aboard the cabin was dim. They were beginning to descend. His time was running out. Where was that blasted switch?

He stared as Grima anxiously prepared to disembark. His dark, wet clothes rustled and bustled with his impatient, excited movements. He was eager to have his prize. Aragorn won't let him have it, but his time was running out…

A wink of light from beneath Grima's sleeve, as if something silver caught the barest illumination from the dim cabin bulb above their heads. Aragorn found _his_ prize at last. The switch was on a Velcro strap tied to Wormtongue's wrist.

With little other thought, Aragorn dove forward and made to grasp it, his fingers tangling on Grima's clothes, the villain's hair, the wire of the comm. link on the man's ear, along the course of this effort.

He felt the surprise of the mercenaries beside him as he shot out of his seat, but they won't be fast enough to act upon the realization that he was going to foil their plans.

He grasped the switch by the strap and tore it from Wormtongue's wrist as he threw himself out of the cabin door opening, threw himself out into the mercies of the winds and the waters.

The sounds were raging all around him, his heart thundered in his ears, but the screech of the Velcro was unmistakable, and the strap that he gripped in his hands told him he's succeeded, almost as much as the horrified, angry face of Grima Wormtongue did from above him; the villain looked down and watched him plunge into the black churning waters with surprise, realization, anger and then unmistakable anguish.

Elessar successfully took all of Grima's hopes of victory down with him to the inky, turbulent Black Sea below.

Irrecoverably.

* * *

_Another Commandeered Putt Putt,_

The Black Sea

* * *

"Estel!" Elrohir exclaimed, shooting forward by instinct, as if he could catch his brother. His body met the ship's railing, as his brother's body plunged into the Sea and vanished beneath its angry churning. "No!" he yelled, eyes pinned to the spot where his brother fell, waiting for him to struggle to the surface.

"Estel!" he screamed over the din of the storm, eyes still stuck to where Aragorn vanished, and because the seas were wild and the blackness of the storm was consuming, his panicked mind and aching heart wondered if the place where he set his eyes was still even the right one at all. Where in bloody hell was that mischief-maker?!

The helicopter hovered over their heads uncertainly, undoubtedly as undecided over the next course of action as its master was. Those aboard the rickety ship, however, were less at a loss as to what next to do.

Elrohir felt the shift in direction, as Elladan maneuvered the ship toward where he thought Aragorn could be. Beside him, Elrohir saw that Mark Brandy and Pippin were brandishing powerful flashlights toward the water, looking for any sign of Aragorn. But the winds were whipping, the sheets of rain stubbornly fell all around them, and the waves were devouring any possible sight of their beloved friend, and in this way devouring too, all of their hopes. The streaks of light grazed across the inky blackness, yielding nothing.

Steely-eyed Finn Baggins felt his heart tug at the possibility that they had lost a comrade and dear friend. Angrily, defiantly, he looked up at the helicopter that still strayed over them in uncertainty. Beside him, Sam Granger was watching his face.

"What now, Finn?" he asked of his friend quietly.

* * *

A Helicopter,

Over the Black Sea

* * *

"Give me that," Grima growled, wresting an automatic from the mercenaries across from him.

"What are you doing?" the man asked, having yielded the weapon to his apparently demented boss.

"I'm going down there," Grima muttered, contemplating the best grip on the rope ladder before him.

"That's insane," one of the mercenaries said, "You can't expect to get down there, point a gun at them and ask for what you want. You'd have to get down that ladder first, with your back open. You'd be a sitting duck if they had weapons!"

"I appreciate the concern," Grima said sarcastically, knowing perhaps the man was just worried that he won't get paid if the employer dies, or maybe it was simply the illogical strategy that was gnawing at the mercenary's ordered mind.

"But I'll see this done," Grima said, eyes manic, as he gripped the rope ladder in his hands and began to descend along its length.

"What the hell, man," one mercenary said to the other, "Crazy bastard."

"What do we do?" the co-pilot asked, looking back at them.

"Let him get down there," replied a man, "Then we get out of here. He's good as gone."

"Crazy-ass," marveled another, shaking his head in dismay, "He was long-gone when we met him."

* * *

_Another Commandeered Putt-Putt,_

The Black Sea

* * *

"Keep looking," Elrohir breathed to Mark Brandy and Peregrin Took, as he noted that Grima Wormtongue was descending from his aircraft and down upon their boat. His heart longed to stay with the search for Estel, but there were other things to do…

He unholstered his gun, and aimed it upon the man who's been the cause of all their grief these days past, as his booted feet touched the wooden deck of their humble ship.

"Put that thrice-damned weapon on the bloody ground, Wormtongue," seethed Elrohir.

The villain took his time, slouched back before them all, each shaky breath making his shoulders quake. He barely noticed the rope ladder he descended from ascend once again, as he was abandoned by the helicopter that brought him where he was.

"I cannot," he said at last, spitting out the words as if they hurt him, as he turned to face them, "I cannot."

* * *

Elladan lowered the anchor of their ship, and watched the events unfold from the view port of the bridge. Wormtongue was there before them, at last, their distant enemy now face to face with them. There was a gun in his hand, a hand thankfully lowered on his side. Elrohir stood about a meter away from him, a gun trained on his body, ready for any final, desperate streaks of action from Wormtongue. To his right were Merry and Pippin, flashlights raking across the surface of the wild sea, searching for Aragorn. Beside them was Mithrandir, tightly gripping a lifesaver tied with a rope, hoping to find some indication of where to throw it. And then there was Finn Baggins and Sam Granger, commandeering their own corner of the sundeck, next to the railing. It was almost as if they were oblivious to the drama unfolding so close to them, so focused was Finn on the ankh in his hands and so focused was Sam on his friend. The older scholars Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm stood warily on the outskirts of the action, seemingly torn with which place to go, where to lend aid, if at all to do so.

Elladan grabbed his cellphone, and speed-dialed Anatalia.

"Elladan," she answered coolly, halfway through the first ring.

"Wormtongue is on the ship," Elladan informed her, first calmly, and then more and more quickly as he escalated into the gravest of worries, "Outgunned and outnumbered, but truly desperate at this point. I believe we can handle him, but Aragorn, he fell. Or he jumped from the blasted helicopter. Either way, he's in the waters, we cannot find him. It's these cursed seas, the waves, the dark…"

"I will contact Agent Harding right away," said Ana, "Maybe the coast guard, the navy… they can lend you more aid. Elladan, we'll find him."

* * *

The Sundeck,

The _Amazona_,

The Black Sea

* * *

"Disarmed," the head of the bomb squad declared, and a collective breath of relief seemed to have been released in that one instance among those who remained aboard the barge.

"Thank the gods," said Legolas, wearily running a hand across his face, "Ai, Haldir, now I do long to be away from this ship and upon solid ground."

"In moments, my friend," the Interpol Agent said with a bit of a smile, "Not too long now. We'll be using smaller, faster ships to get to the Sinop shore. I do not want the _Amazona_ near the city in case we missed some sort of a trap, at least not until we have Wormtongue in our custody." His cellphone rang, and he excused himself momentarily and stepped away from the group to receive the call. It registered as coming from Anatalia, and while naturally he kept no secrets from Legolas, Emmett or Jimmy Goran, the Captain of the _Amazona_ stood with them.

"Ana," he said in a low voice, glancing up at Legolas. The Mirkwood elf could of course, still hear him from where he stood, and was watching him even more warily after he greeted the woman on the other end of the line.

"Wormtongue is with them now," she said.

"Detained?" Haldir inquired.

"Not just yet," replied Ana, "but outnumbered and outgunned. It is only a matter of time. Our attentions are required elsewhere. Aragorn fell. They cannot find him."

"Fell?" Haldir asked, and noted that Legolas was staring at him more and more intently.

"From the helicopters," answered Ana, "They can't find him. I'll send you their coordinates, I suppose you can begin a search radius from there. You have more resources for a more expansive effort."

"All right," Haldir said, before ending the call. In bare moments he received her text message, and then he abruptly called upon the head of the coast guard.

* * *

_Who fell, damn it…_

Haldir was busying himself with another urgent call, though his gaze never strayed from Legolas' stare, since the Mirkwood elf will never relinquish his hold until he discovered what it was that he wanted to know.

_But who else could fall_, his mind whirred, _that will make Haldir's face so taut, and his look upon me almost uncharacteristically nervous and apologetic?_

"Aragorn," Goran said suddenly, and Legolas tore his gaze from the Interpol Agent and wondered if he's been musing aloud.

"Excuse me?" he murmured to his companion.

"Aragorn," the hacker said, a bit brokenly, eyes boring into the elf's, "He fell."

"I'm sorry," Legolas said, blinking, confused, "And… and you know this how?"

"It's all over your face," the hacker said, "All over it, like it's going to break you apart. It… _it makes me sad too, suddenly. I mean I can't explain it. It's just so strangely familiar_."

Just as the hacker's words were familiar, said to him aboard the plane that brought them to Sinop, Turkey in a mad rush. Legolas remembered that he thought it was funny the dwarf should remember _this_ look of all things. And then he changed his mind and decided that in afterthought, if anyone would have seen much of that look of his, then that would indeed be Gimli the dwarf— he who was there _when Gandalf fell, when Boromir died, when all the folk they loved died all around them, when Aragorn died…_ likely, Gimli even saw the same look when Legolas said goodbye to him, when the dwarf himself died all those ages ago…

The dwarf's death made the paradise of Valinor a prison. There was never any escaping himself, far though he may have removed himself from the world.

Gimli aged before him in a slow death that was, while all at once defiant, also streaked toward its ultimate and destined end. As the dwarf grew older, the elf pretended not to take it into account, just as the dwarf pretended the elf did not notice. The silent, loving game dared at the ages to try and change their minds, tear them from their paradise. But then it was always fate who won out, and there was theoretically supposed to be little surprise. And then it was time for goodbye, as if their extended years were but a blink of the eye. And then Gimli was dead, Legolas' mournful face likely the last thing he's ever seen.

Legolas said nothing, found relief from Jimmy Goran's stare only when Haldir stepped back toward them.

Haldir looked at their faces a long time, knowing they knew who it was who 'fell.'

"They will find him," he said to them quietly, and Haldir of Lothlorien found he had very little else to say of that.

* * *

_Another Commandeered Putt-Putt,_

The Black Sea

* * *

"Give it to me," Grima seethed, slowly raising his gun toward Finn Baggins, "It is mine!"

"Grima, put that weapon down!" exclaimed Elrohir, shifting anxiously though his warrior's sharp eyes and calm hands never let that aim waver from their target.

Finn was just as calm. He removed his ring finger from its place within the unfinished loop that symbolized life after death. And then he held the ankh securely for a long moment, giving it a bit of a squeeze, before he held it in an almost casually lax manner.

"Give it to me!" Grima yelled, shaking his gun at Finn insistently.

The young man looked up at him determinedly. Wormtongue was unsure, but in that brief moment, he had a feeling he was the first to see Frodo Baggins awaken in this day and age…

Frodo gripped the ankh tightly again, as if to say goodbye. And then he stepped back to give himself leverage, and he raised his arm up over his head, and threw the ankh out to sea with all of his strength, all of his heart, all of himself.

* * *

A gunshot broke through the stunned calm, and Frodo noticed that Sam Granger had instinctively stepped before his friend in an effort to shield him from harm. But the effort, though brave and warm, was unnecessary.

The shot was not fired from Wormtongue's gun, trained upon Frodo Baggins. The shot came from Elrohir's weapon, firing upon Grima's hand. The villain's weapon clattered uselessly to the ground. The Rivendell elf then stalked toward the man and pulled his hands behind his back, and pressed him to the ground. Wormtongue offered no resistance at all, eyes wide in shock, and anger, and undeniable defeat.

"You should have just killed me," Wormtongue muttered at Elrohir.

"While it would have given me much joy," Elrohir grunted as he shifted his grip in a more secure hold on the man, "I find my heart could not."

"Why is that?" sneered Grima, "Because you are a good fellow, you are not like me, you never will be, all that crap?"

"No," Elrohir replied, "It's just that… After all these years, Grima. After all these lives. NO one should have to die for it anymore."

Frodo glanced away from them, toward Sean Malcolm. The man surprisingly did not stop the disposal of the ankh. He stared back at the young man and nodded a little, as if they understood each other at last.

* * *

The Black Sea

* * *

There was no great rumble, no great ripple that changed the face of the land that accompanied the loss of the ankh.

It fell to the sea, eaten up by the waters, tossed by the waves almost absently, as if it's not given so much grief and hardship these last few days.

It was like a toy of the gods of the waves, tossed, turned, flipped. It danced and it jumped, as if freed. And then it descended, and down to where the rains and the storms no longer stirred the waters. It fell as if forever, down into blackness, down to that place where nothing lived, down to where the sun or any form of light never shone, down to where it would be forgotten.

It was not destroyed.

It didn't need to be.

It simply… rested.

At the last.

* * *

Elsewhere, a man was not quite so giving to the god of the sea.

He too was tossed and turned, flipped and spun. He was hurting and weary, but ceaselessly defiant, as he always was along the course of his life. He fought, almost absently, almost without thought. He was simply made this way, perhaps, sturdy and unyielding.

He fought to keep his head above the water, fought with the cold, fought with the waves that rose high over his head and plunged him into the empty blackness below. He fought his own bodily weakness, and he fought with the hopelessness that would once or twice dance across his mind. He simply _fought_, for he knew that others were fighting for him as well.

* * *

Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

"We have him, Ana," said Elladan, "Grima Wormtongue. We have him at last."

Anatalia breathed in relief, stared at the laptop screen she's been manning for hours. She ran a hand over her eyes, and settled her gaze on the comm. link blip that showed her where Grima Wormtongue was, for the man had stolen one of the devices earlier that night.

"You caught him in the water?" she asked.

"No," replied Elladan, "On the ship. He is there, lying on the ground with Elrohir sitting on top of him."

She frowned. "He had one of our comm. links with him, didn't he? That comm. link is out over sea, about two miles away from you and being taken further."

"He did have one of those with him earlier in the night," said Elladan, "But he is here, on the ship with us. He certainly doesn't have it anymore. Perhaps he left it on the chopper he came in."

"But that chopper left you long ago," Ana pointed out, not quite sure of where she was going either, "It should be further away than two miles. And last I checked from Agent Harding, they were being detained already."

"Where is this going, Ana?" Elladan asked.

"Maybe he dropped it over the water," she said, "Or maybe it… maybe it fell—"

"—with my brother," Elladan finished breathlessly, thinking: oh dear gods, he loved this woman.

* * *

_Another Commandeered Putt Putt,_

The Black Sea

* * *

Anatalia Craxi sent them the coordinates, and as Elladan maneuvered their boat to the spot she told him of, he knew from the sudden bustle of his companions on the sundeck that Aragorn had indeed been found at last.

He set up anchor in a mad rush, and then ran out of the bridge and tried to bully his way past those who crowded around his adoptive brother. Aragorn was on his side on the wooden deck, coughing and hacking up water, his body shaking with merciless cold and the tremble of weariness. Elladan pressed a warm palm on his back, massaging it in smooth circles.

"You're all right," he said, soothingly, "You're all right."

"All right?!" Elrohir's voice called up incredulously from somewhere in the background. Charged with securing Wormtongue, he was unable to step toward their recovered Estel. "Oh, oh, not for long, Estel, I'm going to bonk your head for that stunt! You're much older now, you're supposed to be above those things--"

"Later," Aragorn gasped, struggling with sitting up. Rolling back his eyes in consternation, Elladan found no other option but to aid him; there was never any stopping this man.

"Bombs," Aragorn gasped, coughing as he regained his breath, "_Amazona_." He raised up a shaking hand and amidst the tangle of the wires of the comm. link that had saved his life, was Grima Wormtongue's switch.

Elladan smiled at him. "It's been taken care of, brother. Victory, Estel. At last I can say it. We were only waiting for you."

* * *

The Docks,

The Black Sea Region,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

The moment the call came through that the troublemaker was once again saved from himself and was alive and awake, the profound weariness that's been calling to Legolas' attention for seemingly days now was making itself well-known and hard to defy. But rest was a long road ahead, for he found himself fielding questions at the shores of Sinop.

As far as the world was concerned, the incident aboard the _Amazona_ was a terrorist threat that was successfully neutralized. It was the story the media was given privy to, and one Anatalia Craxi would keep even from her own networks.

Interpol shuffled Agent Horace Harding away, their very own 007 superhero. They kept him from the eyes of the press, so as not to compromise his identity for his future covert efforts. It was not so strange that Jimmy Goran, whom Interpol was by now obviously courting into membership, was shuffled away and hidden along with him. They were not as kind to Leland Greene and Emmett Rigare, whom they perceived as harmless, hapless witnesses and basically left them up to their own devices in dealing with the press. After all, Interpol cannot just leave the media out in the cold. Lack of transparency created fear and suspicion.

Because Boromir, Eowyn and Faramir were at the hospital, they were not ashore to be greeted by the flashes of cameras and the prying questions of the reporters at the docks. Neither were Elrohir, Elladan, Mithrandir, Aragorn, or the four young brits and Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm, who were ushered to a smaller dock because Interpol wanted to arrest Grima Wormtongue in quiet.

"What's your name?" he was asked.

"Leland Greene," he replied, finding no other recourse but to answer. Besides, it was a fact that would be known soon enough. He reflected that once again, Montes and the boss would not be very pleased with him at all.

"Mr. Greene, you're English?" asked another reporter, noting his accent.

He was half-awake, being dragged past the throng by Emmett Rigare, who was much more used to the attention.

"By birth," Emmett replied for him, "But he's a detective in L.A., has been for years."

"Does the U.S. government have anything to do with this then?" asked another reporter, "And Mr. Rigare—" of course one of the world's most eligible bachelors was known to the press— "How do you fit into this picture?"

"The U.S. government has nothing whatsoever to do with the _Amazona_," said Emmett quickly, lying easily, "Detective Greene is here on personal leave. So am I. We met in Sicily on vacation, and with friends, heard about the expedition of Dr. Baggins. Since we had shared interest in the science, we flew in as a group. It was all just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

They ducked into an awaiting rental car, to go back to the hotel. More will have to be said, and certainly, more information will be discovered in the future. But in the meantime, the basic cover-up story was good enough, and Legolas sighed as he sank against the passenger seat gratefully.

"I don't know how you do it," he said to Emmett.

"You all right?" the man asked him.

"Yes," Legolas said, smiling as he closed his eyes, "I've never been better, actually."

"So they just threw the ankh away, hm?" said Emmett.

"That's what Elladan said to Haldir over the phone," said Legolas, "that's what he told me."

"And the rationale is," said Emmett, "that it presented no real danger after all?"

"Yes," Legolas replied, "We should have noted it sooner. The loop of life after death was unfinished."

"So our young Brit basically, simply, tossed out a priceless artifact of great historical significance?" asked Emmett, "And not some sort of evil tool?"

Legolas found it strangely funny he opened his eyes, and they crinkled with light and laughter. "Simply put, yes."

"Well," said Emmett wistfully, "All this, ultimately for nothing. And yet… I feel my time was not wasted."

Legolas' gaze softened all the more. "I do not think it was for nothing. I have a feeling… The gods did not put us here to stem some terrible trouble, as if the world needed us. They put us here because we needed each other. It was only ultimately a question of wisely using your second chance. They are merciful still as you've likely noted."

"I do not remember enough to know for certain," said Emmett, "But I have a feeling I know what you mean. I don't need to reclaim older memories to understand the idea of divine providence."

Legolas smirked, "I prefer to call it divine damage control."

* * *

A Hotel Room,

Sinop, Turkey

* * *

Horace Harding was away, both for debriefing and tying up the loose ends of the situation. Jimmy Goran, not just yet an official member of the agency, was released to do as he wished, and he wished only for a bed and to sleep away what few hours were left of the night. He felt as if he hasn't stopped moving in days.

Once at the hotel, he discovered that more arrangements were made, such that they didn't all have to squeeze into the two rooms as if they were a bunch of refugees.

Anatalia Craxi shared a room with Elladan, no surprise there. Mark Brandy and Pip Took were together, as were Frodo Baggins and Sam Granger. Another room held Gandalf and old friend Bob Baggins. No surprise there either. These roommate preferences, however, basically left Sean Malcolm with no choice but to grudgingly sleep in the same room with Dean Malcolm, who arrived after having been evacuated from the _Amazona_. This in turn, left the hapless Elrohir of Rivendell to grudgingly camp out on their floor in case of any untoward incidents between the two cousins. With Eowyn and Faramir sharing a room, and Boromir recovering well in the hospital, it left for him the choice between sleeping in one empty bedroom with a pair of unused beds, and one room in which a sleeping Aragorn rested.

Jimmy Goran stood by the door. The man was deeply asleep, it seemed, his back to the hacker rising and falling. The sight was strangely warming, and though the dwarf felt he should sleep in the empty bedroom instead and leave this room of Aragorn's for Legolas to share for when the elf returns later, he could not leave either. At first it was in want of that warmth, the man's assuring sight before him. And then he realized he also wanted to one-up the elf for some reason…

He was weary, and certainly the two reasons were compelling enough. He kicked off his boots and settled on the bed for the night.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the dwarf, Legolas of Mirkwood would stand in that same place by the door, barely an hour later. Emmett Rigare stood behind him, as he watched his two friends in peaceful sleep.

"I shall retire," Emmett said quietly, and Legolas turned to see him smiling gently, with understanding. "They are well, you see? When you tire of standing there and trying to convince yourself that we are all indeed here and now and safe and well, the door to the room left to us is unlocked, and a warm bed awaits you."

"Good night, Eomer," Legolas said to him, "I'll stay here a bit longer, I think."

"I know," the man said, before he walked away.

Legolas took a deep breath, smiling irrepressibly to himself that they were victors, yes, but more than anything, they were indeed all together at last.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Slowly, both because he was relishing the moment and wanted to remember it forever, and then also because he wanted to assure himself that this was no dream, he stepped toward his friends, and sat on the slim rugged space between the two beds.

First he looked gleefully upon the sleeping Gimli. Dwarf always slept soundly. It was good too that the snoring, after all these years, died down at last. He felt a bit silly, like a mother watching over her sleeping children; some love, some pride, and then there was that almost uncontrollable urge to wake them up with a hug or start pinching cheeks. He was almost irrationally happy just watching his friends, though they did nothing remarkable outside of just being with him.

Then, he turned his attention upon Aragorn. The man was on his side, back to the elf. So the Legolas had to rise up on his haunches a little, almost forgetting about the wound on his leg and almost yelping with surprise at the pain of the exertion and the reminder. He stifled a cry and dulled it further by pressing a hand over his mouth, and he landed on his backside on the floor with a barely audible thump.

_Unglamorous_, he thought with a wince, rubbing at his leg. When he next looked up at Aragorn, he found the man smiling at him sleepily.

"You're late and you look terrible," Aragorn said in a single breath, making the elf laugh out in surprise.

"You're supposed to say 'You're late,'" Legolas said in a hushed tone, "And let me say the other part."

"I'm not in a generous mood," the _adan_ grinned, pushing himself to a sitting position and regarding the elf thoughtfully. "Can you believe this?"

"No," Legolas admitted, smiling ruefully, meeting the man's light gaze and then letting his eyes stray to Jimmy Goran. "Can you?"  
"I'm trying," Aragorn replied, "We are all here. We are all well." He added wryly, looking pointedly at his friend's hand still absently rubbing his sore thigh, "More or less."

Legolas just smirked up at him. Casually, Aragorn scooted over on the medium sized bed, making space for his friend. Legolas pushed himself up to his feet and laid down on his stomach, smiling at the feel of the mattress sinking beneath him.

"Oh dear gods," he breathed, "An honest to goodness bed."  
Aragorn chuckled, and pried the blanket from beneath the elf, who carelessly laid over it in his heavy weariness.

"You've gained weight," the man grunted.

"You've lost your edge," Legolas pointed out sleepily, as Aragorn threw the blanket over the two of them.

"I bet you've got such tales to tell," Aragorn breathed, as he settled down to sleep as well, "And we've got all these things to do that we've never ever done together."

"Indeed," murmured Legolas.

"Watch movies," Aragorn began, "Karaoke."

"Karaoke," Legolas repeated, chuckling.

"We can travel to Asia," said the _adan_, "See these new places."

"Bungee jumping," Legolas said wryly, "Oh but wait. You've jumped off cliffs and other high places before."

"Don't be snide," Aragorn reprimanded him mock-gravely, "I've never tried it with a rope."

* * *

They drifted off to sleep, the both of them, mumbling strange, funny things. Jimmy Goran listened because he couldn't stand not to. The voices were comforting. These are voices his heart knew.

He was profoundly weary, but now he could not seem to find the heart to sleep, for he was excited too. Fire was coursing through his veins, warming him, and warning him that Gimli Son of Gloin was going to burst forth from him at any time now. It was good to be with old friends. It was _invigorating_.

He kept his eyes open and his mind awake, as those two voices permeated memory after memory that danced across his thinking. He wanted to be awake, he wanted to feel that exact moment when all that he knew, all of himself was reclaimed and at last complete, as complete as he felt long ago, blazing through life s_ide by side with a friend_…

Gimli was coming back. And he knew he was himself again and at last, when he felt his heart hammer with excitement at the prospect of looming over the elf when Legolas wakes up, and greeting him good morning just before he says, _Ha! Look it here, lad. I'm taller than you_.

* * *

TO BE CONCLUDED IN AN EPILOGUE…

Hey guys!!! Thanks so much for the super supportive c&c's. Keep 'em coming if you can and I really hope FEE didn't disappoint. Watch out for the Epilogue, which I will release in a few days along with my usual NOTES and THANKS in the After word. 'Til then!!!


	41. Epilogue

Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

" " "

EPILOGUE

" " "

Los Angeles,

Mid-2004

" " "

Elvish healing was remarkably fast, but then the long arm of the law, or particularly, the strong arm of his boss, was much faster.

The bruises on his face were fading but still unmistakeably there when he found himself at last standing in the Captain's office, trying to outlast the relentless stare, trying to survive one more judgment day.

"Greene," his Captain said in a low, dark tone, like the quiet rumble of a volcano before the big explosion, "I need you, to take me through this blasted story, step by step."

"Yes sir," Legolas replied, sighing. He's been back in the U.S. barely forty minutes, and this was his warm welcome (_perhaps he should say, 'heated' instead_). No surprise, really. He was considering basking out in the Sinop sun a bit longer with his friends, loose the bruises, let the wounds heal. But then the call came through for his quick return, and well, he figured he's postponed this encounter long enough.

"I want you to tell me _exactly_ what kind of shit you got yourself into," the Captain grated, and Legolas noted with some misery that atop his boss' desk was quite a sheaf of tabloids and newspapers that had his face all over them.

The ever-clever, ever-resourceful media went and discovered that it was he who was being tortured by Grissom Warrington in Rome, the so-called Union Leader —but he wasn't one at all, so why would Warrington do that, as was earlier believed? And then, after the incident in Rome, it's been reported that Leland Greene, a detective from Los Angeles, was also instrumental in the fugitive's capture, as well as in the diffusing of a terrorist attempt upon the barge _Amazona_. He was being hailed an international hero, a human interest piece, for the deeds were large and great, and he had admittedly marketable looks that helped sell the magazines and papers.

"You've managed to put yourself in such a great pile of trouble," the Captain added, "that I'm tempted to ask you to tell me this story from the very moment you walked out of my office after you asked for that blasted leave, and tell me about every cup of coffee and every bite of bread since."

"I'm afraid," Legolas said tentatively, restraining a smile, "I'm afraid I might not remember all of that, sir."

The Captain glared at him, and then his face softened as he sighed heavily and said, "What the hell happened to you, Greene?"

"I was contacted by family I did not know I still had," rep**_lied_** the elf, "They live in Austria and invited me to go visit. And so I took a leave, decided I wanted to get to know them. You know I have no one else, sir."

Ah yes, that bit of melodrama he employed for sympathy, and was a piece of advice that came from Pergrin Took. Lad got into trouble a lot, but always seemed to smartly wriggle his way out of punishment. That sort of advice could not have come from a better source.

"Hm," the Captain grunted, shifting in his seat. "So you went. What I don't understand, is what Adrian Aarons and his pair of colleagues were doing traveling along with you, after their lab was destroyed."

"We've repeatedly ran across each other after he treated Montes," replied Legolas, "and then met again after he reported the blow up at his lab when he saw me dining across from the station with my relatives. He was down from the event sir, understandably so. Anxious also. We got along, so I invited them since they did not have a workplace at the time anyway. He hesitated, but when there was another attack in his house, he took up our offer. My long-lost… cousins," he said of Elladan and Elrohir, "Own a sizeable estate in Vienna that could have easily accommodated for even more guests."

"I know," the Captain said coolly, apparently having looked it up, "What did they want with you?"

"Nothing," replied Legolas, "Just to see how I was doing. There's very few of us left in the family, sir."

"What was the Wal-mart hobo doing with you?" the Captain asked, adding dryly, "Was he 'down' as well, such that you invitred him also?"

_That's a bit harder to explain_…

"There was a woman with us, sir," said Legolas, "Anatalia Craxi, my cousin's companion. She recognized him as an auctioneer whose career plummeted last year. They knew each other, she took pity on him and invited him along as well."

"Your cousins and their associates are in the habit of taking in strays, are they?" the Captain asked, knowing his leg was being pulled although he was unsure precisely how.

"I suppose so, sir," Legolas replied quietly, with a bit of a sheepish smile, "And so we were off to Vienna."

"You did not stay very long there," the Captain said, "Next I saw you were in…" he looked at the files, "Messina. In Sicily."

"I was on a vacation, sir," said Legolas, "It made sense to see one of Europe's finest ports. There we met more of Ms. Craxi's associates, the Rigares. I suppose you can say this is when trouble started."

"It started when you asked for a leave, Greene," the Captain growled, "Continue."

"As you know," said Legolas, "The Rigares own the Fortress Defense company, which was having internal problems. It was my association with the Rigares, amplified by the European tabloids, that resulted in the danger to my life."

"Someone tore your apartment apart and beat up your doorman," the Captain added, "And Adrian Aaron's home was not spared either."

"Yes, sir," said Legolas, "And then, my cousins' home in Vienna was attacked, and I was abducted. All because it was believed we were closely tied to the Rigares. You know Grissom warrington had his eye toward acquiring their company, eventually."

"We all saw your handy little video," the Captain affirmed, "What is this about you being a Union leader?"

"A case of mistaken identities," Legolas replied, "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time—in Rigare's company."

"You got out of there alive it seems," the Captain said dryly, "Occasionally to my regret."

"Interpol intervened," said Legolas, "They've been watching Fortress Defense for some time. Because we were with the Rigares, and at a unique position to aid the Interpol representative, we cooperated with their investigation."

"What brought you to Sinop, Turkey?" the Captain asked.

"After our ordeal," rep**_lied_** the elf, "We sought solace from the bigger cities. We were intrigued by the Baggins expedition, and then by the lure of the beaches as well. We didn't know the fugitive Grissom Warrington was so relentless as to try and follow us there. There was a storm, and we were sailing, so we asked for aid and were received in the _Amazona_. He then attacked the barge. The rest of the story, sir, I'm sure you know. Our group managed to detain Warrington, Interpol came in and diffused the bombs. It was all just… chance."

The captain watched his earnest face for a long while. The story was chock-full of coincidences, that was sure enough. He remembered when Rafael Montes barged into his office showing him the first tabloid featuring Leland Greene with his wealthy friends, he didn't know what to think, dismissed it as personal business. And then that infamous torture video came out, he started thinking perhaps Greene somehow got in way over his head—organized crime and lethal, quiet politics underlined the world's largest businesses, and Fortress Defense was definitely one of the world's most successful and dangerous firms. And then the next thing he knew, his subordinate was all over the news and hailed a hero. Leland Greene's answers were surely answers enough, and the case in any investigation was always that if the circumstances can both be caused by innocent and guilty factors, the law thought the best possible case of the individual and accepted the innocent scenario. Besides, Greene was never on his shit-list— the man was a good, honest worker. Always has been. Intelligent, polite, skilled… no record was cleaner, until the latest escapades of his leave, that is.

"You've had quite the time of this goddamn leave," the captain said coolly, "Now I know why you take so few of them."

"Yes sir," Legolas said with a helpless smile.

"Get the hell away from me, Greene," the Captain sighed, gathering all the tabloids and newspapers all around him. "The way I see it, I can give you a few more days. Let my head cool. Rest, get well for god's sake, you look like the dead. They're going to think I run my people to the ground. It being that you're a big media darling now and all."

Legolas winced. That did not sound quite as masculine as he desired. He felt a slight flush come to his cheeks, and this little low-blow teasing was probably just going to be the first of what great ribbing he'd encounter at the station.

The Captain handed him the periodicals, saying he had no use for the blasted things. Legolas stepped out of that office bearing the sheets of paper with some bewilderment, thinking that legend and reknown in this day and age was really much stranger than in the third age.

" " "

Rafe Montes was waiting for him outside the Captain's door. The burly man was completely on his own two feet by now, and though Legolas smiled at him openly, he stared back at his partner with profound displeasure.

"One vacation," Rafe growled, "One, frigging vacation I let you out of my sight, and you get into all this crap."

"I'm sorry," Legolas replied with a bit of a chuckle, "But I tried my damndest not to disappoint you, _mom_."

"Yes, well, shut up," retorted Rafe, "That was supposed to be _my_ line." He paused, and his eyes softened as he searched his partner's injured face. "You all right?"

"Yes," Legolas answered, "Never better actually."

"You have that sickening good-to-be-alive look all over your face," Rafe observed, "What the hell happened to you out there?"

Legolas looked at him sidelong, just smiled as he pondered the barest impossibility of giving an answer to that question. The lies he's served the Captain were a stretch already, for the man was intuitive and perceptive. But Rafe knew him well, or at least, knew Leland Greene well enough to know when Legolas was lying. He'd see through the lies, and the gruff man won't appreciate the insult to his perception and their friendship at all.

"I've reclaimed old friends," Legolas answered tentatively, "And we incidentally got into a mess. But all is well now."

"More secrets, hm?" Montes asked, "You know I'm gonna find you out one day, don't you, Greene?"

"I know," Legolas replied, not bothering to deny he was indeed not being fully open or truthful. But then that was how he always was and Montes knew it well enough.

"Until then," said Rafe, "I think I can live with this mystery crap. But I'm a detective, eh? I'd eventually want to know."

"Before anything else," said Legolas gravely, "Yes, of course."

"Answer me this one though," said Rafe, "You some kind of a crooked cop?"

"No," Legolas answered.

"Fugitive from the law?" asked Rafe, "Like, from England or wherever?"

"No," Legolas replied.

"Spawn of the devil?"

"No," Legolas chuckled, saying, "That would be _your_ son, Montes."

" " "

Horace Harding sat on a booth in the diner across from the police station, and waitress Jackie was making him into her new target. She served him his black coffee and then stepped back and asked, really rather sultrily, if there was anything else he wanted.

"Nothing, thanks," Haldir answered.

She was unused to the lack of attention. She walked away to prepare the rest of his breakfast, and intentionally undid the top two buttons of her uniform.

"Bagels," she said to him with a smile, as she laid down his food and then rose up. "Oh!" she exclaimed, catching his eye at last, as her hands slowly went up the open buttons, "It seems I've come undone!"

_I think you're more unhinged_, Haldir thought, but he just looked at her sternly and said, "You'd best button up back, then."

She left him in a huff, but she was helplessly entranced and intrigued by the handsome, cold fellow. When the bell sounded that a new customer just arrived, she looked up from her distractions to find her most favorite handsome, evasive fellow: Leland Greene.

"Leland!" she exclaimed, "I've read about you in the papers."

"Jackie, hello," he replied with an open smile.

"Well all the booths are filled," she said, "But want to sit at the counter? Near me?"

"No, I," Legolas scanned the room and found Haldir, "I have a table."

Jackie followed his gaze, and her eyes widened slightly to see that he was referring to the quiet man on the corner. "Leland, is everyone you know good-looking?" she asked, remembering the twins from before, the brothers, the doctor… even Leland's married partner was a bit of a looker.

He just chuckled at her. "I'll have the usual, please."

Legolas left her gawking where she stood, and walked over to his friend. Haldir was staring out the glass that looked across the street at the police station.

"I suppose that must be Rafael Montes," the Interpol Agent murmured, and Legolas looked up to find his partner looking back at him at a stare from a glass window across the street.

Legolas gave Montes a wave, and the man hesitated before waving back and looking away. The Mirkwood elf sighed.

'He'll be watching me very closely now,' he said in his native Elvish.

'He cares greatly about you,' Haldir murmured, 'He'd want to know precisely what happened, I presume. Precisely who you are…'

'One more pair of eyes to evade,' Legolas sighed, 'Is just another in a growing list. Thank you, by the way, for supporting my cover story.'

'Your lie is mine as well, you recall,' said Haldir, 'We protect the same secret, the same legacy.'

'Indeed,' agreed Legolas, 'But I know you are dedicated to your job, and the same secret does not hold as much sway over you anymore, this life of mine, being an elf.'

'I know this only all too clearly,' Haldir replied, meeting Legolas' thoughtful stare.

"So," breathed Haldir, shifting tongues, "Here we all are. What have you found?"

"What do you mean?" Legolas inquired.

"You came back looking for something," Haldir pointed out, "You came back from a _haven_, _mellon-nin_, as if it was lacking. And here you are, you stayed, it must be for something."

"I'm uncertain," Legolad admitted thoughtfully.

"Well," said Haldir, wryly, "You do have the extent of forever to mull it over, I suppose."

"And you ask this why?" Legolas inquired.

"I'm not sure," Haldir confessed, adding with a bit of a smirk to lighten the truth, "And I've been mulling it over because _I_ don't have an eternity, do I?"

"No," Legolas said quietly, all-too-familiar grief dashing across his eyes, quickly masked, quickly disguised with just as much flippancy, "You don't have to plague me quite as long."

"So," breathed Haldir, still feeling that serious shift in the air, "If… I mean when. When _we_," curious, he reflected, that he now counted himself one amongst the mortal category, "When we all die, you'll leave again, I suppose."

"Perhaps sooner," Legolas replied, startling his friend almost as much as the reply surprised himself.

"And why is that?" Haldir asked.

"I have a feeling…" the Mirkwood Prince hesitated, "I have a feeling I have to learn this… this crazy _release_ business. A more definitive goodbye, of sorts. One I've never made, before." The more he spoke of it the more it was beginning to make sense, "I have to leave while there are things that still bind me, Haldir. I have to cease this madness, of departing only when there is nothing left, as if I was fleeing, as if my hand was forced. Because I will always be left behind, I know that too well, and for so long I've seen myself as a mere pawn of the fates, as if this life was an injustice, and it lends no sense or credence to my freedom, my choices. I have to learn to make my own goodbyes. I have to know that I can depart. Because I ultimately must."

"Sooner, eh?" said Haldir, rubbing his chin in thought, "How long, you think?"

Legolas gave him a bit of a grin, "No worries. I have no intention of letting myself out of your hair in the near future."

"How unfortunate," Haldir said wryly.

"So, ah…" said Legolas, deciding it was his turn to ask the questions, "Does it not puzzle you? How it was that you came to be here, in this… form?"

"What form?" Haldir asked, wanting the elf to say _it_.

"Mortal," replied Legolas, "_Human_."

"I wonder, yes," replied the ex-elf, "But I find I cannot question. Or at least, I cannot question in anger, or as if I knew a better way. I dare not, for I can only question living once again as a human if I can question why I once was an elf. There is no questioning to be made, because there are no answers to be had. We appear in whatever way the gods make us, and the gods make us how the world needs us. Or how we need to be. This is as true for myself, as surely as it is for you and all whom we know."

"Well," Legolas hesitated, "Does it not make you feel any… any…"

"Less?" Haldir finished for him with a laugh, "You bigot."

"I was seeking another word," Legolas retorted primly.

"I bet," said Haldir, indulging him, "_Mellon-nin, _truly, how much does it matter where we are, what we are, who we are with, as long as we are happy? I have a feeling _I_ found something here."

"Well," sighed Legolas melodramatically, looking out at the window, although Haldir knew him well enough to see the spark of humor in his eyes, "I find there is one thing I can question."

"What's that?" Haldir asked.

"Why in the world would they make him taller than me?" complained the elf, and Haldir followed his line of sight down to Gimli the not-so-short dwarf, who was crossing the street toward them.

Gimli entered the diner, tall and burly, walking like a king as if he owned the place. He grinned at the elf and the ex-elf and towered over them.

"Stop gloating," Legolas warned him, "You carry that chin so high as if this height business was your own personal doing."

"No need to be bitter," Gimli grinned at him, "Ho-hum. Shall we go? We have to catch Aragorn for lunch."

Legolas rose to his feet, and looked at Gimli pointedly, for the dwarf, as he's been doing these past few days, was waiting for him to stand up straight and see that little bit of height difference between the two of them.

"_Mellon-nin_," grated Legolas, "you're making me want to pound you until you get back to normal size."

"I'd love to see you try."

Haldir watched the banter, amused. Oh, he'd love to see them both try too.

" " "

The World Wide Web

" " "

From: TheTook hotmail. com

To: LelandGreene aol. com

Subject: Re: Hobbits

Date: Thurs 11-Sept-04 00:10:48 EDT

Leggy!

We are all doing very well. Gandalf says hi. He says he can live with all the amenities of this age but he finds e-mailing alienating. So in case you should one of these days receive a letter strapped to an eagle's heel, you'd know at once it's from him. We're all still here in Vienna, but we leave for England and school in about two hours.

Dr. Baggins doesn't quite know what to do about the Malcolm doctors. He's been closeted with Gandalf these past few days, as if he seeked counsel that I have a feeling is already in his heart. He won't understand why, perhaps not until he remembers who they all are, but there is mercy to be had there. He is not pressing charges, that is for sure. Besides, how can he tell the police that ultimately, it was his nephew who tossed the stolen ankh away?

Frodo is… Frodo, I suppose. Still standing, still smiling that lonely smile of his as if he aged… well, as if he aged ages. But he's lightening up, methinks. I think that bit of ankh-tossing did him some good. I'm sure he's smart enough to know that that Mt. Doom incident eons ago was a near-failure through no real fault of his. The Ring is… what it is, and though the heart is strong, it flounders too. He knows he cannot regret, but I suppose it isn't so strange, that he should wonder too what it would have been like, if he had the strength to do what it was he set out to. He's lightening up at last, I can see it. A bit more time with me and Merry, and we'd have such mischief!

Thing is, Merry still lies sleeping within Mark Brandy, like Samwise in Sam Granger. It's not so bad, I suppose. There is nothing truly different about them anyways. What worries me is, because all this business is coming out with only me the wiser, only me the truly changed, I'm afraid I'm quickly turning out to be the sensible one. I need to get me into some form of trouble right quick.

Pip

" " "

From: LelandGreene aol. com

To: TheTook hotmail. com

Subject: Re: Re: Hobbits

Date: Sat 13-Sept-04 00:10:48 EDT

Pippin,

I have some work to do, and I do not have very much time at the moment. But I must get one thing across right away. Please, no trouble until we are at least in the same continent and I can pull you out.

Legolas

" " "

From: ElrohirSeriouslyRocks 

To: LelandGreene aol. com, TheTook hotmail. com, AdrianAarons yahoo. com, JimmyGoran yahoo. com…

Subject: (None)

Date: Mon 20-Sept-04 00:12:32 EDT

Hello my friends!

How is school/work coming along? It's been awhile since we all broke off to go back to our remotely-normal lives. I was a bit relieved by my return to the hum-drum, and then here comes my delinquent brother, asking me if it was okay that he should get married.

I lost my head. What in the world did it mean that he should ask if I think its okay? Am I his mother? Am I his keeper? Does he think I have no other life but looking after him and all his messes?

But of course you're smiling because I am quickly finding out that apart from running the house and spending our money (which I was completely content with until you fellows came along and brought trouble and mischief back in my life), he is in a sense right. I do need a bit of a life, don't I? Legolas, is waitress Jackie still single?

If you fellows should become bored yourselves, come by and visit. I'd do it soon if I were you. It's a lot of fun watching 'Dan pace around the house, up, down, east wing to west, night and day. Anatalia's been busy, and he wants to pop the question when their concerns are only each other. It's better than television, I tell you. Somebody amuse me! I can't wait for my newphew. We'd get into such straits together.

Elrohir

P.S.

I'm making is a blasted e-group, this is getting tedious.

" " "

From: MarkBrandy yahoo. com

To: Fellowship yahoogroups. com

Subject: On Elves

Date: Mon 27-Sept-04 00:09:54 EDT

Hey guys,

The lads and I are looking for a bit of a tide-over job for the fun of it. They're recruiting Santa's elves for the pre-Christmas gig. Who in the world ever said they're supposed to be small?

" " "

From: LelandGreene aol. com

To Fellowship yahoogroups . com

Subject: Re: On Elves

Date: Mon 27-Sept-04 00:10:30 EDT

Merry,

Do not believe it. I think a dwarf spread the rumor.

" " "

From: JimmyGoran yahoo. com

To: Fellowshipyahoogroups . com

Subject: Re: Re: On Elves

Date: Tues 28-Sept-04 00:12:25 EDT

I think a dwarf spread it because he found the need to put particularly pompous blond princes in their proper place.

P.S.

And it is also probably why the gods made him taller the second time around.

" " "

From: Emmett Rigare hotmail. com

To: Fellowship yahoogroups . com

Subject: Wedding, Not Mine

Date: Mon 4-Oct-04 00:09:24 EDT

Fellows,

This is just to remind you to check your mailboxes for wedding invitations. Eunice and Fred are too busy to email you, and I'm the donkey errand boy tasked with it. She decided on a Fall wedding. She wants it as soon as possible, and he likes the trees when they look as red as her hair. Make the time to come, please. Until then, stay out of trouble. It's in two weeks, in our estate in the Italian countryside.

" " "

From: Elladan hotmail . com

To: Fellowship yahoogroups . com

Subject: Pray she'd say yes

Date: Mon 15-Oct-04 00:09:24 EDT

Fellows,

I'm sure you've been kept abreast by Elrohir, but I'm making the formal announcement that at the very last, I get to have the fearful honor of asking Anatalia Craxi to marry me. Tomorrow. I'm in knots, and though there are doubts in my heart about our ultimate fate, I know I cannot not have her exclusively mine for the rest of her life. Pray she'd say yes.

" " "

Antiques II

Europe, Late 2004

" " "

He remembered thinking that he was not quite sure of who she was, what she did for a living, why she had this nobility that seemed unparalleled even by anyone from the elven society he's known. The mystery was dangerously intoxicating, and has been ever since that first time he set her eyes on her.

He had these things in mind, how it was that it's been all at once so long and so short since that day they met in the little Antique store just outside of Rome. How the world has changed and yet here they were once again. He found he's looked at her, all along the course of knowing her, with the new eyes of a fascinated stranger, the old eyes of an ancient, wizened soul, and then the right eyes, when he knew at last what place he wanted for her in his life.

Mortal and immortal unions were always complicated. He loved her, but also knew he cannot die for her. It's been all these ages of wisdom, he supposed, resignation in their divisible fates. He cannot wholeheartedly choose a mortal life, leave his brother, leave who he was. He can live without her, he knew that full-well, just as he knew she'd want him to. It will hurt to face the ages without her, yes, but if there was one thing that made him treasure his immortality even now, it was that it allowed him to give her everyday and every night of his company, and his love, until the day she died. He was comforted that through time and age, never would she have to wake to a day that he was not with her.

Besides, he figured, he'd have to leave these shores one day. It might as well be that day when she closes her eyes in the death of sleep. As much a bittersweet parting, for the day she leaves in death will be like the day the world ended, and he really might as well just leave the world himself, albeit in a different way, toward the West. But she'd give him children, great-looking, intelligent, charming ones. And then Imladris… beautiful Imladris can have a mortal heir at last. He can leave with a stout heart. The world will get by without him, and he without it. All because of her love and her shining eyes.

Today, on their way to what the media's dubbed as the wedding of the century, that of Eunice and Fred's, they stopped by the antique shop where they met.

Today, he'd tell her.

The shop was one of those old rundown ones that he loved because of their quaint charm, and was heady with age and history. He remembered that he instantly liked the look of her; aristocratic, ageless. She was just so _beautiful._

He was pretending to admire a carved antique book cover. It was beautiful, yes, but she was far more distracting. It was how they met. She recognized the art and admired his taste. He saw her eyes light up in approval, and then cloud as if she was contemplating making the first move.

"Fifth century," she had blurted out from beside him, and then they talked, and then he was in love.

And now here they both were.

_Pray she'd say yes_.

THE END

November 11, 2004

" " "

As always, I'm giving you guys a tour into my demented mind, if you are interested in the evolution of the story and the characters, why I made them out the way they were, some points of interest, recurring themes, etc. It's going to be long, so here's a preview via an outline, and proceed if you want to see it:

**SOME IMPORTANT NOTES**

****

**OUTLINE OF NOTES SECTION**

I. The World Threatening Peril of the Ankh

- what it was

- why it never truly existed

II. The Recurring Themes of LOTR and as followed by FEE

- Reincarnation

- Letting Go

- Self Discovery

III. The Plot of FEE

-Parallelisms of FEE with LOTR

-Twists on the LOTR story in FEE

IV. Middle Earth Geography and the Geography of FEE

V. The Scale of FEE

VI. On the Persistent Use of High Technology in FEE

VII. On Some of the Characters

1. On Anatalia Craxi and Gambling with OFC's

2. On Legolas and the Loneliness of Immortality

3. On Aragorn and the Death of Adrian Aarons

4. On Emmett Rigare, the Evolution of Eomer, and Why Some Characters Remained 'Asleep'

5. On the Irrepressible Haldir.

6. On the Much Beloved Gimli.

7-8. On the Twin Sons of Elrond.

9. On Grima Wormtongue and Philosophy.

10. On the Characters You Might Have Been Looking For.

VIII. On FEE as a Trilogy – the Plots

IX. Massive Thanks and Replies


	42. Afterword

**AFTERWORD**

**OUTLINE OF NOTES SECTION**

I. The World Threatening Peril of the Ankh

- what it was

- why it never truly existed

II. The Recurring Themes of LOTR and as followed by FEE

- Reincarnation

- Letting Go

- Self Discovery

III. The Plot of FEE

-Parallelisms of FEE with LOTR

-Twists on the LOTR story in FEE

IV. Middle Earth Geography and the Geography of FEE

V. The Scale of FEE

VI. On the Persistent Use of High Technology in FEE

VII. On Some of the Characters

1. On Anatalia Craxi and Gambling with OFC's

2. On Legolas and the Loneliness of Immortality

3. On Aragorn and the Death of Adrian Aarons

4. On Emmett Rigare, the Evolution of Eomer, and Why Some Characters Remained 'Asleep'

5. On the Irrepressible Haldir.

6. On the Much Beloved Gimli.

7-8. On the Twin Sons of Elrond.

9. On Grima Wormtongue and Philosophy.

10. On the Characters You Might Have Been Looking For.

VIII. On FEE as a Trilogy – the Plots

IX. Massive Thanks and Replies

* * *

* * *

I. On the NEW WORLD THREATENING PERIL. At the end of the story, the question is, WAS THERE REALLY A WORLD-THREATENING PERIL to begin with? I'll leave it up to you, haha. Seriously, though I contemplated it. But ultimately, as the story came to life, I lost my taste for spawning a new ring-like evil. It seemed misplaced somehow—we were already very deeply entrenched in the story at the point where the actual evil enters that to encase it in an artifact of some sort was like dropping a Martian in Middle Earth.

I realized as I worked that the way the story was progressing, the true evil is inside the self, not some external factor. What do you do with the time that is given to you? Change for the better? Relive the past? The 'evil' concentrated on a physical thing was almost simply incidental. The true question was if you can defeat the part of yourself that was destructive to you as a good person. Upon reflection, this is similarly applicable to the Lord of the Rings. The Ring (though hardly incidental) provided a catalyst for the ultimate battle that rages more pointedly within the self than against a big, evil, bad guy figure.

This is best illustrated in my depiction of the only actually discernable bad guy in FEE, Grima Wormtongue. There was no true One Ring in this story, only a man chasing ghosts and dreams of domination. Remember, in Chapter 24:

_"Wormtongue asked me where the ring was," Legolas said, his voice wavering with his fatigue, "He said if we're all here, then something like it must be too. But there's no ring, is there, Mithrandir?"_

_"Not to my knowledge, no," the wizard replied._

_"But if Wormtongue anyway follows the story so faithfully," Legolas said, "He will know where to look for that ring or whatever its incarnation is now. The hobbits. He asked me where they were. He's going to try to find them. We have to find them first. We have to get to the hobbits."_

_Gandalf's eyes clouded with frustration. There might be a ring, there might not be a ring. There might be a new evil and there might not be a new evil. Is there really still a graver threat than Grissom Warrington? Or are they just trying to stop a man who feared repeating his past so greatly he unwittingly fell into evil anyway? _

_Evil or no, Grima Wormtongue is going to look for power where he believes it will be…_

And though there was indeed an artifact, remember it was always said that the work was an unfinished one. Remember, in Chapter 31:

_"Does anyone know what this is?" Bob asked, and the slide featured the symbol of an ankh. It resembled a 'T' topped with an inverted teardrop. _

_"The ankh is best associated with classical __Egypt__," Bob Baggins said, "this knowledge should be common enough. It is widespread in their art. You might also know this as the Crux Ansata, or the 'eyed' cross in Christian iconography. It is widely-recognized to mean life, yes. But it has other meanings too… would you believe me if I said the ankh has a sexual symbolism by virtue of it resembling a sandal strap? It also resembles the knot of __Isis__. It's also once represented the womb. It also has symbolized the union of Isis and Osiris… _

_"But the most fascinating thing to me," said Bob, "is that scholars have long believed that though this symbol is prevalent in Egyptian art, it stems from an older, unknown culture. You see it's like in __Persia__India__America__Sardinia__… It's a combination or development of the t-shaped cross—a tau-- which symbolizes death, attached to the sign of re-birth. So the ankh, in its wide range of meanings, not just indicates life; it specifically symbolizes life after death. Because it is often held by the gods in the manner of one holding a key, you can say it is they Key between Life and Death."_

_"Bob Baggins found the Key to Life and Death," Haldir informed Legolas, "Bringing back to life and toward immortality, one who has died."_

_"As I said, scholars have long theorized the ankh stems from an older, unknown culture than Ancient Egypt," Bob Baggins said gravely, "I believe we found proof of that."_

The slide showed a picture of a gleaming, silver ankh that was three-quarters of the way well-preserved, missing but half of the top loop…

_"Stunning isn't it?" Bob Baggins breathed, before Legolas or any of the New Fellowship who heard the information could reply, "How do we know it is not Egyptian, you might ask. The script is different, for one. It is of a kind no one has ever seen before. And the material… it glows far too greatly for silver, does it not? As if it has a light within. It is of an element that is new and also never been seen on Earth in recorded history. Until now."_

_The crowd oohed and ahhed. Only Haldir knew Bob Baggins was talking about mithril._

_"The element is so strange," Bob Baggins continued, "That we cannot even date this. No technique of ours could tell how old this is. It is also so… invulnerable, in our tests. It is just so stable that I suspect it will take quite an impossible effort to destroy it."_

_"But it looks broken," someone pointed out._

_"'Tis not broken," Bob Baggins said evenly, "It was unfinished, it seems. The lines are smooth and gradual, but this material cannot be melted because of its strength, and if it was indeed broken or snapped, the years could not have tempered the edges at the points where it broke because we found this in the anoxic layer of the Black Sea, where nothing decays. And so we have concluded that the work is unfinished. As if a master artist was interrupted, or halted. The craftsmanship is exquisite, is it not? It likely would have taken a making of more than just one go. Beautiful…"_

And in Chapter 39:

_He drew out the Ankh from his coat pocket, turned it over in his hands, fingers toying with its odd curves and corners, the curious break on the ring that topped the cross. He knew about it well enough, his uncle headed the expedition after all, and was never shy about his passions. The Ankh was just a great excitement to him, a great treasure. It was indeed beautiful, and heavy with rich history._

_He ran the tips of his fingers over the tau part, the cross that symbolized death. What fine craftsmanship. Someone's soul went into the work, there was little doubt of that. The long vertical stem of the cross flowed right up to the tear-shaped, ring that topped the tau. The break gave it a curious character. His Uncle said the material was unknown and seemingly unbreakable, yet here was this little gap that failed to complete the ring of life after death, as if the craftsman simply… stopped. It was unfinished work._

The T symbolizes death, and it's complete. The loop topping it, symbolizing life after death is the unfinished part. That is why though there is an artifact, it never could have been used to resurrect Sauron because it was never completed.

I wanted to show that ultimately, it is not the artifact that makes the best danger, but the man seeking it and made insane by desire for it. The ring, or any artifact I would have chosen to represent it in my fic, would only serve to symbolize the internal battle that I think I've already depicted long before the appearance of the artifact itself.

* * *

II. ON RECURRING THEMES. I know its modern but I didn't want it to be too alien from the original Lord of the Rings. So I tried to seek out some literary criticisms and essays on Tolkien's masterful epic and relate it to my own fic.

Theme 1: **Reincarnation and Tolkien**. The latter's Lord of the Rings asks us what we are to do with the time that is given us; the epic is bombarded with the idea of finiteness (mortal love, immortal love), eternity (elves), how they help form what we do with our lives, how they craft what happens to us, who we are, the things that we do. Like, do you see things from a wider picture? Do you just live day by day? Even who you love is being raised as an issue (i.e., Arwen and Aragorn, Luthien and Beren) just by virtue of the time given you.

The former (reincarnation) is one of those infamous archetypes that are irresistible to a lot of fanfiction writers and readers. Reincarnation asks the same thing, only it adds the dimension of not just what do you do with your time, but what do you do _this_ time? If there are things that you could do over, mistakes to correct, etc. This is applicable to _all_ the characters, particularly Boromir, Frodo, Smeagol and Wormtongue.

The entire fic attempts to answer it (the _What-if_'s), just as the characters are pondering the same question (once again, in accordance with my favorite literary tool of the medium being the message).

Remember in Chapter 27:

_"You should be scared," Legolas said wistfully, "But you are safe now. You're here. Away from… everything."_

_Brad stared at him a long moment, weighing his words, weighing his desire to know all the things he's been wondering about. "The last time we were all in a situation like this, I died, didn't I?"_

_"Yes," Legolas replied, "I… I watched you. I watched Aragorn say goodbye. I was there."_

_"And the last time we were all in a situation like this," said Brad tentatively, "No one else died, right? And we won too."_

_"Haldir," Legolas said quietly, "Harding died too. But yes, we ultimately won."_

_"What if me being here," Brad asked, "What if it changes things? I don't mind dying, we're all headed that way. I mean not you," he paused, closed his eyes in confusion, attempted to gather his thoughts, "But you know what I mean. If we win, I don't mind. If I have to die for us to win, I don't mind."_

_"No one has to die," Legolas told him resolutely, "I look upon that day with constant regret. If I moved faster, if I did not tarry as long here or there, if I took this turn, this step instead of that… The world opens up to infinity, and I lose the ground beneath my feet. So many questions, so many possibilities, so many regrets and yet no second chances. Or so I thought. Now you are here, and I can at last… try for another way. Maybe we can all live, and we can all win, eh?"_

Legolas' reaction to Borormir is about how the world opens up beneath him because the options, the what-if's are so many, the world you know is just turned upside down. That feeling is what I'm trying to invoke in the readers for in the fic. WHAT IF.

Theme 2:**Letting Go and Tolkien**. This is the aspect that is one of those things that are pointed out when the Lord of the Rings is explicated in terms of being a particularly Christian text (as Tolkien himself says). 'No sooner do you find what you seek that you have to let go.' Other Christians out there would likely know what I mean; Christ, after all, was truly revealed to be the Messiah when he died and was in a sense, not as accessible to us. Frodo's quest along the Lord of the Rings was a mission of letting go. The truest test in the epic was not of physical might, but of resisting hanging on to the Ring, as in Gandalf, Galadriel and Aragorn, and basically all who have encountered it and lent themselves to the quest. Aside from the apparent letting go (literal and figurative!) involved in the Ring, there was also Elrond letting go of Arwen, the three Hunters letting go of Sam and Frodo, Merry and Pippin parting, even as far as Legolas and the elves leaving for Valinor and letting go of the Earth.

In my fic, I invoked this theme in its central character Legolas, restless immortal with beloved ties that are truly difficult to sever in the big picture:

Remember in Chapter 3:

_"You've sent us along a merry chase, mellon-nin," Elladan told Legolas, "It really was terrible of you not to have called upon us. How long have you been back?"_

_Legolas frowned in thought. He left the mortal world the year Elessar died, sailing for the elven haven of Valinor with Gimli the dwarf. The years passed slowly there, and though for awhile he found his peace, the death of Gimli and the years that followed it were fraught with restless frustrations. He never was quite as complacent as the other elves, he was just too fiery. The sea called for him to return from where it was he came, much as it called to him to get to where he already was. The wanderlusting was persistent. His fruitless wanderings about the theoretical haven and his palpable loneliness bought for him a passage back to the lands that he loved. Although it was a courtesy often not granted and hardly ever requested, he was allowed back to Middle-Earth, back into the circles of the world, that he may at last see for himself precisely where he belonged, that he may cease to wonder, that he may find his peace (or resignation…). _

As well as in Chapter 29:

_"You look like you're gonna go bury someone," Goran said with a grunt, shifting his position beside the glum elf._

_"Oh I am," Legolas sighed, "I'll kill them and bury them myself…"_

_"Seriously?" said Goran wistfully, "I don't know. Your face… like this… it makes me sad too, suddenly. I mean I can't explain it. It's just so strangely familiar."_

_Legolas glanced at him, said nothing. Funny that the dwarf should remember this look of all things. In afterthought, however, if anyone would have seen much of it, then that would indeed be Gimli the dwarf— he was there when Gandalf fell, when Boromir died, when all the folk they loved died all around them, when Aragorn died… likely, Gimli had seen the same look when Legolas said goodbye to him, when he himself died all those ages ago…_

_"I'd forget about it," Legolas muttered._

_Goran frowned at him and fell silent a long moment. "You've got issues, man."_

And then in the smaller picture, having to learn to yield his perceived responsibilities and trust that his friends can get by without him.

Remember in Chapter 6:

_My mind is going in circles, I cannot think straight. Some nights ago I found myself prowling the streets in search of a homeless old Istar, for the Valar's sake, I'm losing my mind. I did not succeed, so I focused my attentions virtually stalking Adrian Aarons—old habits die hard, I suppose. I remember how it felt like every time I took my eyes off Estel… it always made me nervous, wondering what in the world kind of brand new magnificently terrible strait he'd get into without my watchful eye._

_He caught me once, and he looked at me as if I was manic, but he had an easy way about him, and he said he remembered me from the hospital and asked if I was all right. Embarrassing. I said I saw him and wanted to catch up, because I had a health-related question. I made up some silly old thing and he said I should see him in his office in a few days. Of course I did not go, and I decided not to bother him for now. He's stayed alive without me this long._

As well as in Chapter 27:

_"Just so," Legolas breathed, turning toward Elrohir once again, "Well? When are we leaving?"_

_"I was afraid you'd ask that," Elrohir winced, "We're going in an hour. You're staying here to get better."_

_"You know I won't let that happen," Legolas told him stonily._

_Elrohir favored him with a long, measuring glance. Harding, Goran and Brad watched with uncertainty. In a flash of movement, the Rivendell elf made to strike at Legolas, hand taught with tension in a jab intended to stop a hair away from his friend's neck. The Mirkwood prince sidestepped it neatly, but he moved quicker than his body preferred and he wavered where he dodged. Elrohir steadied him with a grip to his arm, and Legolas favored him with a very royal glare._

_'Stay that princely temper,' Elrohir said to him in their language, and in his serious eyes Legolas found no triumph at all, only grim determination. 'We can both admit my point has been successfully made whether or not you wish it. Legolas… you've stood in a distant shore long ago, and let people go where they must and do what they ought. You can do so again.'_

_Legolas' eyes softened. Ah, yes. He could not forget Parth Galen, one of those great moments in his life when he learned that sometimes, one needed to step away, that there was considerable strength and courage in letting go rather than holding on._

At the end, the irony here is that in loving and finding or re-fiond ties, our elves learns release at last. This is a paradox of finding and letting go working together, as in Christian texts, as in the Lord of the Rings.

Theme 3: **Self-discovery and Tolkien**. Coupled of course with asking what you do with your time is who you ultimately are. As in all stories, the defining moments of Tolkien's epic, as well as the everyday trivial things that the characters do form an idea in the reader's mind of who they are. This is as true of who we all are as persons. Once more, a very Christian slant— people act, and in a lifetime of acts mold themselves as people. There is a dynamic between the man making the choice and at the same time, the choice making the man.

We see this most apparently in Aragorn accepting his destiny as a King. In Arwen making her choice and becoming a mortal. In Sam and the other hobbits discovering a strength that their stature in life once made to seem impossible.

In my fic, this is a self-discovery that is made more apparent because it isn't just figurative; the self-discovery in the manner of remembering a past life is literal too, but the message is the same. Man making a choice and choices making a man.

* * *

III. ON THE PLOT. A bit of twists and parallelisms of FEE with the Lord of the Rings… 

**Parallelisms. **Aside from the recurring themes, I also included some parallelisms with events. I know AU's can be a long shot, and I really didn't want my fic to seem so incredibly impossible, so I felt the need to kind of add in a few more familiar images, just so For Every Evil wouldn't feel like such an alien leap.

At the beginning of LOTR, Bilbo uses the ring to vanish from his party, right? In For Every Evil's Chapter 31, after his speech in Sinop, there was a kind of vanishing too. And note that Bilbo's _There and Back Again_ detailing his adventure is also addressed in For Every Evil's _Black Sea Expedition_, albeit in a distinctly modern format. Note also that in the LOTR, Eowyn deals with the Witchking. In FEE's Chapter 32, she deals with the watchman, haha. In Chapter 39, I also made use of a fellowship of 9 out to dispose of the Ring, even if the Ring was an Ankh and the composition of fellows are different. Recall also Gandalf's fall in Chapter 35, and Aragorn's in Chapter 40. There are a few others you may have spotted and I may have forgotten to write about here. But anyway, I hope you saw some of them :)

**Twists**. I wanted to keep to the Lord of the Rings but its fun fanfiction also to kind of reverse things a little. What in the world does that mean? For instance: The Lord of the Rings begins with searching for a ring incidentally in the possession of a hobbit, right? In my fic, the order is reversed. It becomes a search for hobbits, who incidentally have a ring. Also, we see some twists in that Gandalf now finds himself talking of sensible things primarily with Peregrin Took in Chapter 38! And then, in Chapter 39, we have Frodo telling the elves what he was told by them ages before. Also, in Lord of the Rings, the last of the Fellowship to leave the Earth (in dying or going to Valinor) was Legolas, right? Now, it's hinted that he'll be the first to leave. Another bit of reversal is that in the Lord of the Rings, as Elrohir tells Legolas in For Every Evil Chapter 27: "you've stood in a distant shore long ago, and let people go where they must and do what they ought. You can do so again." Back then, letting go was to stand ashore and let people leave. At the end of For Every Evil, letting go is leaving and letting those ashore take care of themselves as the elves sail for the West.

I know it's weird and obsessive and often I wonder if people even see it, but anyway, just to give the tale more texture and kind of in-jokes to remind people of where the inspiration comes from, not just in the very apparent sense (i.e. that it's fanfiction and therefore has a borrowed universe).

* * *

IV. ON MIDDLE-EARTH GEOGRAPHY. Okay, guys. Grab a map of Europe and grab your map of Arda 'cos this is going to be a tough one to explain :) I read that Tolkien's Middle-Earth is likely just Europe, which once was called _Middel-Erthe_, back when they considered themselves the center of the world. I read that Tolkien used the term also to give immediate perceptions just by giving directions; in old lore, the idea of the 'East' was as exotic and threatening as they were in Tolkien's tales. It was also hypothesized that Tolkien's England must have been Hobbiton, as in Oxford! So although I am profoundly unsure and not particularly well-versed in this issue, I made Rivendell Austria, just by a hypothesized location, imagining the old Middle-Earth shifting and moving to become present Europe in my head. Mirkwood I imagined to have shifted far northwards, maybe Norway, Sweden, Finland. Gondor I imagined to be Greece and Rome once joined together by virtue of location and because these are the two old great European empires. Rohan is now Switzerland, by location and because Switzerland was once part of Rome and Rohan was once part of Gondor. Mordor I made out to have sunken beneath the Black Sea, by location, by implied meanings, and because in the movie the land just sank, and also by reference to the Sea of Rhun which I now consider to be the Sea of Azov, etc., etc. The countries situated are not all that important, though I put them in because they were fun to think of. If more readings on Tolkien yield that Middle-Earth and Europe are not analogous, then consider the piece a profound AU then :) I'm very flexible, haha.

* * *

V. ON THE SCALE. Since I was trying to parallel the Lord of the Rings (much lesser, I know, but that was the inspiration), the fic had to feel just as sweeping. The characters absolutely had to go to strange and wonderful places. I wanted the story to feel big—fancy houses, parties, exotic locations, wide seas, storms and world-altering events. It just had to be BIG and intricate. When some of you guys said I was beginning to feel a bit like Dan Brown, I was totally floored because I'm like a gigantic fan of his, and all this fascination with art and history was enriched by his books, so thank you!!! 

* * *

VI. ON TECHNOLOGY. It's quite a shock, isn't it? Computers, e-mails, cell phones and complicated lattes… I wanted the feeling of technology and modernity infused into the story as kind-of persistent and a bit alien. The experience of the fic is supposed to be as much of a 'walking dream' as seeing old friends in modern incarnations was to Legolas. Once again invoking my favorite style of the medium being the message. Just as Legolas feels that seeing everyone in a modern state is strange, it should feel strange to the reader to sit through a modern-day AU and see 'old friends (i.e., beloved characters)' in modern states as well.

Regarding elves and technology, I always did feel that elves were very forward-thinking. Highly tradition based, of course too, a symbol of older and grander days, yes. But they also knew the best in healing arts, architecture, stuff like that. I considered them to be adaptable, and also quite indulgent (they certainly have the time and resources to). So that's why I figured, living in modern times, they would be well off (I think technically it's called the time value of money. Properly invested dough compounded by the years can yield millions and millions, right? And these guys have lived ages, so I imagined they'd be wealthy, not only by virtue of the stigma related to elves, but also practically speaking from a business point of view), and they'd be surrounded by the best things—fancy homes, cool cars, designer clothes… things like that.

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VII. THE CHARACTERS. Okay. So, for those of you who may wonder at why some characters were awakened and why some were not, or have any problems with the depictions, or those who liked the depictions and wondered where they came from, you may want to read this part :) 

Character 1: **On Anatalia Craxi, and the Gamble of OFC's.**

The style's a gamble, the premise is a gamble… but the OFC is likely the biggest gamble of all. I wanted her to be involved, but not intrusive. I wanted her to feel like the reader who is suddenly pushed into the situation—feels a bit left out, a bit uncertain, but still pivotal. So I'm really hoping you liked her even just a bit, or at the very least, I hope you didn't mind her because she's basically a representation of all of us. OFC's are pretty risky. They can really ruin the mood, I think, if not carefully situated. I was very careful with her, I think… I wondered what kind of following my fic would have considering the very, very first chapter made her so important—it was even from her perspective! She is one of the biggest doubts I had in posting For Every Evil. I genuinely worried no one would read my fic because it pretty much began through her eyes. But she kind of just came alive, I guess, and out for the world to judge and see. Please be kind, haha. She's very bold, I think, very daring. I made her out to be almost perfect—wealthy, intelligent, beautiful. But more than anything I wanted to ensure she was 100 modern—a company president, a socialite, and get this—even a divorcee. We're talking about a worldly person who's been around a lot. But the trick is, she's not been around _enough_, especially compared to her new friends. Once again, the medium being the message, I wanted us to feel like her—you think you know a lot, but you don't. Her function in the story is also always the mover of events; she starts it, after all—she chats up Elladan, she finds Legolas' photographs, they get known by the world because she is hounded by the paprazzi, etc., etc. Once again, the medium is the message—when Elrohir told her anyone there is meant to be there in Chapter 13:

_"Everyone here," she replied, "has either lived forever, or lived once before, and have this… this definite place, this great part to play. I'm like… I'm like… this spectator, an accessory, this… this… incidentally-here character. You know, like one of those 'girlfriend' roles in the cinema."_

_He smiled at her knowingly. "I hate ending up sounding like Gandalf, right? It makes me feel old. But anyone here is meant to be here. Wait and see."_

That's like my writing teacher talking about the elements of a story. The presence and existence of everyone and everything must be justified. If a gun's in the first act, there's going to be a body in the third. Anatalia Craxi is the gun, and so along the story 'bodies' or events spurred by her very presence can be spotted.

Character 2:** On Legolas, and the Loneliness of Immortality.**

Obviously my favorite character! I've often been told that I have this habit of building tales around his ultimate loneliness. I'm irresistibly drawn to this aspect of his fate because most elves seem so calm and complacent. Legolas in contrast is so passionate, he just _burns_. It's so hard to imagine him suddenly without these ties that make him _alive_ beyond the literal sense of being immortal. _I _personally had to find a way to reconcile it (as a fan and a thinker), just as the character tries to reconcile it as well. We aren't quite told how he lets go, so I've always guessed; if you've read my fics "Last Stand" and "An Unknown Place," they share the theme except this one is not just an introspective piece, but action and reflection. In For Every Evil, large, epic-like events push him to make choices, to understand his position. And this is a position that brings him to that resolve in the Epilogue:

_"I have a feeling…" the Mirkwood Prince hesitated, "I have a feeling I have to learn this… this crazy release business. A more definitive goodbye, of sorts. One I've never made, before." The more he spoke of it the more it was beginning to make sense, "I have to leave while there are things that still bind me, Haldir. I have to cease this madness, of departing only when there is nothing left, as if I was fleeing, as if my hand was forced. Because I will always be left behind, I know that too well, and for so long I've seen myself as a mere pawn of the fates, as if this life was an injustice, and it lends no sense or credence to my freedom, my choices. I have to learn to make my own goodbyes. I have to know that I can depart. Because I must."_

I think it's just tragic to leave when everyone's dead. That's because you have no choice at all to make. This is arguable, of course, and it's just my personal opinion, but you know what they say. Sometimes strength lies in letting go, rather than in holding on.

Character 3: **On Aragorn and the 'Death' of Adrian Aarons.**

I have this initially inexplicable sadness over the 'vanishing' of Adrian Aarons. Don't get me wrong, I love Aragorn to pieces, but the doctor was growing on me. Ultimately though, It's the loss of innocence, I guess, even if we emerge more knowledgeable as people, its loss is always naturally coupled with some regret. This is why the hobbits' return to the Shire was also very pensive in the movie. Or why people in everyday life look to childhood with a really poignant mix of joy and sadness. I know he lives in Aragorn, just as Strider, Estel and any other incarnation of the Raqnger does. But the feeling of regret was so potent that for awhile I was contemplating shocking you all and never reawakening Aragorn.

The first version of the story was that Adrian Aarons was not awakened by the encounter with _Anduril_ and he just pretends to be Aragorn to assure everyone, especially after Legolas was made out of commission because of his injury. And then he confesses in the end, or Legolas has guessed and known all along but let him do as he pleased anyway. Remaining as Adrian Aarons therefore still would have been heroic, and of course we all know he wouldn't have been less-loved. But then, to skip Aragorn entirely was also… not quite right. He was a pivotal figure in the Lord of the Rings and it wouldn't have been as just a parallel to the original tale without him. And I suppose I wanted to give him back to lonely Legolas too, and his brothers. Anyway, my attachment to Adrian Aarons is likely why Eowyn was just as faithful to that aspect of him, why Aragorn assures her that Adrian Aarons was never lost, in Chapter 28:

_The Shieldmaiden of Rohan knew the very breath their eyes met that Aragorn was at last restored to them. She felt a measure of sadness, for the 'loss' of the Adrian Aarons who feared he wasn't quite enough to the task. But Aragorn was always assuring to her, and they needed all the assurance they could get since the role previously played by Legolas was for now vacant with the elf's injuries._

_Aragorn murmured in Elvish to Elrohir and Gandalf as he gave them quick embraces. His eyes were heavier set and a bit lonelier, but calmly determined as always. His strides were broader, his presence more remarkable. He emanated power and wisdom, even in his faded jeans and loose sweatshirt beneath a distressed leather coat. In him the worlds have crashed together, and things ought to move faster now…_

_"Eowyn," Aragorn greeted her, "How do you fare?"_

_"Welcome back," she said to him with a smile, "I am fine. How are you, __Adrian__?"_

_He smiled a bit, endeared that she would insist upon the more troubled doctor's name. "I am still alive," he said wryly, "I am all of myself all at once, in here."_

And why Legolas was always a bit regretful of always pushing Aragorn (In Chapter 27), and why he and Aragorn had to have that heart-to-heart about him in the end in Chapter 39:

_The mention of the doctor's name dulled the elf's humor a little. His eyes dimmed, and Aragorn caught it easily._

_"I'm all of us all at once," Aragorn assured him._

_"But I cannot help think as if some part of you died," Legolas said, "Adrian Aarons' cares were less, you see. He is like… you, without all of the… the crueler history, the grander responsibility."_

_"You forget," Aragorn smiled, "It was a glorious, beautiful and loving history too, my friend. You take the good with the bad. You've given me a gift in seeking me, in wishing for my recollections."_

_"You have to leave soon," Legolas said quietly, "And we might both perish this night. But you have to know… if you had stayed as Adrian Aarons, if you simply loathed me and regarded me only as the shatterer of your life's peace… even if you did not awaken, I'd still have given my life for you. Always. You'll never change it. I'd never have loved you any less, brother."_

_"I know," Aragorn said jauntily, then smiled as he gently added, "That is why I'm here."_

Truthfully though, it still felt like Adrian Aarons died or something, like I killed him off, and that can be tough for a writer because in a great sense, he was an original character too. This is also why I've made Legolas to have regrets that are very similar to my own, and why I felt it imperative for Aragorn to assure us that the awakening was for the best, and that Adrian Aarons is not dead inside. Curious irony, though, is that Legolas (and myself as a writer and maybe some of you readers as well) so desperately wanted Aragorn awakened, and then felt some regrets over the consequent loss of Adrian. Well, there are always costs, after all.

Character 4: **On Emmett Rigare, the Evolution of Eomer, and Why Some Characters Remained 'Asleep'**

**Emmett Rigare** was not always so debonaire. The first version of the reincarnation of Eomer of Rohan, was actually the ringleader of a gang of Harley-riding men called the Roadhogs! I figured, those brash boys from Rohan as modern knights with big, bad horsepower seemed sound.

It sounds quirky, doesn't it? And such a leap from Emmett Rigare, heir to a multinational company! The first version of FEE, after all, was not even meant to have Grima Wormtongue as the bad guy. By the time the story was truly coming to shape (and I regard this as the time when there is a truly discernable villain with a truly discernable cause), it made little sense to create the Roadhogs, and so a just-as brash Eomer makes his way into the story into fiery, modern royalty with his multinational company.

One of the things that you may have found a bit odd is that I never quite 'woke up' Eomer within Emmett Rigare. Recall that in Chapter 25, the rules of awakening was detailed by Elladan:

_"But why can I not recall?" __Adrian__ asked, "Fred remembered at the touch of one whom he loved. Even that blasted Wormtongue remembered. I cannot believe I would not recall my brothers, my dearest friends…"   
"I've been contemplating this myself," admitted Elladan, "And I believe I have some measure of an answer. There are some constants in life, things you get so used to, that are always available to you that you do not think about them. Friends, perhaps. Love, family. Food, even. Not to say you take them for granted, just that they've always been there, yes?"_

_"Yes," __Adrian__ replied, not quite certain where this was going._

_"Let me tell you something about Faramir of Gondor," said Elladan, "Or Fred, if you should insist. He knew not much love in life. He knew duty, and brotherhood, and responsibility. Very little of love. A brother, yes, but one that was lost only too early. Constants, remember? And then he meets Eowyn, and she opens for him a wondrous world, and he could love and be loved more than he thought possible. A sudden change, a twist, an epiphany, an awakening, wouldn't you say?"_

_"I guess I would," __Adrian__ said._

_"And then let me tell you about Grima Wormtongue," continued Elladan, "He's known servitude all his miserable life. It was rife with impotent ambition, desperate betrayal, ultimate rejection. And then he awakens to himself and kills his own master. Once again, constants, and awakening. Any life is filled with this. See: Fred goes to __Messina__ and touches one who had awakened him from an old life long ago, and once again he receives an epiphany. As for Wormtongue, I can only guess. Remember Emmett said he changed after a discovery in the __U.K.__? Roundabout there is where he killed his master long ago, and where he himself was killed. An awakening in the past, parallel to an awakening now."_

_"What about me?" __Adrian__ asked, "And Brad? And Emmett? Even the hacker?"_

_"I have to think about the others," said Elladan, "But you… you've always had love and friendship in your life. Family, brothers, laughter, mischief… These are your constants. But there was one great awakening for you in the past. Then as now, we all knew who you were even if you did not know it yourself. You were born a king, born to lead, and born to serve. You woke to a duty destined. And a victory only yours to take, if you chose to. As now, if you choose to."_

**The Awakening Rule** then is simple: drastic change that jolts you and shatters all the things you thought you knew, breaks the barriers of how you understood the world. Faramir's, Eowyn's, Wormtongue's and Aragorn's awakenings were detailed in the quote above. For **Boromir**, it can be deduced that he was beginning to remember in Chapter 31:

_I've never been looked upon with such distrust and fear._

_The experience was theoretically new, but it felt so hurtfully familiar, so greatly overwhelming and brutally heartbreaking, that Brad figured Boromir of Gondor must be stirring awake within him somewhere, because Brad of L.A. was not quite raised knowing such earth-shattering devastation._

Boromir was a son of Gondor, her hero, her hope. And then to be looked upon with distrust and fear was an awakening of what demons might have been inside him. So this is another example of constants and an awakening. Another awakening comes with the realization of his own death, as was detailed in in Chapter 37:

_Brad stared at the staunchly determined elf. The wound was burning, it was filling him with coldness and emptying him of himself. It was not a new feeling. Boromir was coming back and ironically, he was returning toward death. _

_But not to die, he thought determinedly, Boromir did not return simply to die…_

_He returned, at last, to live._

For immortal, impervious **Haldir**, the process of Awakening was not quite addressed. Aside from the fact that I was a bit unsure how to go about it, I also decided to use the medium as the message again. This is the cool guy who never lets on much about himself. And so he surprises us all, as he surprised Legolas in Chapter 30:

_Goran, Anatalia and Legolas stood about each other uncertainly, as the impervious Harding fixed his tie in front of the mirror. _

_"Don't worry," the Interpol agent said to them distractedly, making Legolas smile a bit. Harding finished with a flourish and stepped toward the door. Goran followed before clasping Legolas' arm in reassurance._

_"Arrogant Agent's right," Goran said, "This is going to be a breeze. Just don't mess up my files."_

_"I'll try," Legolas said wryly, "Be safe, evellon."_

_Goran smiled at him wistfully, his heart knowing exactly what the strange word meant, just as Harding stopped before the door and turned toward Legolas with a magical, familiar gleam in his eye. _

_"Long ago," Haldir said to the prince, "we fought and died together. I am proud to fight alongside you once more."_

_The troublemaker threw the stunned Mirkwood elf a jaunty look before he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him._

But before that, you may have spotted some signs of him referring to Goran as a 'dwarf,' with some emerging biases of the elven kind. But the excerpt above shows he's already remembered. One rule I established in writing this story is that when I detail action, generally a character is referred to not by his true name but by his reincarnation's name until he's remembered himself. For example, note that Emmett has always been Emmett throughout the story, except when his friends call him by Eomer.

A few other vital awakenings were in **Pippin**, who in LOTR learned real grief and a tearing from innocence with the fall of Gandalf, parallelized in FEE's chapter 36:

_The sight stirred in him a strange… memory of a dream, he decided, for there seemed no appropriate term. The sight was nightmarish in quality, a story he's heard of, a tale he knew, a tragedy close to his heart, but something he's never actually seen unfold before his eyes such that his mind oft conjured up all sorts of strange versions and the version this night must have been just one amongst many he's imagined ages ago. _

_Except it's real…_

_The old man's body fell as if it fell forever. _

_It's like a dream, and it's like a memory, but it's not my dream and it's not my memory…_

_"Gandaaalf!" Peregrin Took exclaimed, his scream slicing across the the stormy night, slicing through across ages of memories, slicing across time, and space, and all the knowing and unknowing of his mind and body._

_Peregrin Took was awakened in 2004 with the same pain that showed him in the 3rd age that truly, bitterly, inescapably, even a small hobbit of little renown, little ambition, little cares, was to have his slice of the great tragedies of the world._

And then of course, there was **Frodo**, who was awakening to the greatness of his responsibilities. In Chapter 38:

_Finn Baggins, uneasily settled in the backseat next to Sam, was staring at his face from the rearview mirror. He was always very perceptive. People were getting hurt. People were likely dying. All for this silly, little thing…_

_"I wish the Ring had never come to me," he said suddenly, slicing across the palpable silence._

_Elladan glanced up at him from the rearview mirror. He knew that after all these ages, his eyes were setting upon some fragment of Frodo Baggins once again._

_No one in the car corrected Frodo, or considered the reference to a ring as a confused mistake. Perhaps Sam and Sean found it trivial. Or perhaps, somewhere deep in their own minds, in their old spirits, they knew that in speaking of the Ring, they were also speaking of the Ankh._

And again in Chapter 38:

_They heeded their elven friend's warning, and looked upon each other uncertainly. The perceptive Finn Baggins was staring at his companions with his wide penetrating eyes. The grave expressions on the faces of the older ones, those who knew what was happening, was stirring something in him that he vaguely felt he'd rather keep silent and asleep._

_He was feeling strangely responsible, strangely guilty. He turned to Elladan pleadingly, wanting to know what was happening._

_"They are holding all of our friends captive," said Elladan quietly, "They are looking for the Ankh."_

_"Which I now hold in my possession," Finn said softly. He fingered the artifact in his coat pocket, thoughtful. He considered handing it to the others, they seemed more knowledgeable of the situation than himself. But for some reason they let it stay with him wordlessly, and he remembered what Brad said to him earlier this night about the story of the Ring. Another artifact that they let stay in his hands, trusting him to…_

_"It must be destroyed," he said softly, "By me."_

And lastly in Chapter 39:

_"What in the world are you doing?" Sam whispered urgently, and Finn made placating gestures at him, imploring him to calm down, not wanting to alert the others in the adjoining room of what he was doing._

_But there was never any secrets from elven ears. Finn's eyes drifted up behind Sam, and there stood the twins, looking at him with burning eyes, as if they did not quite know what to do with him._

_"Let me do this," said Finn, "If I can't find a way, no one can."_

_Elrohir winced. He's heard about that. Funny that it was grandmamma who once said that to the hobbit, and it was now the hobbit whi was saying this to the elves._

_"The Lord and the Lady," said Finn, a bit panicky, as he was confused for it seemed that Frodo was fighting his way through memory; the Rivendell twins were certain he was referring to their father Lord Elrond and their grandmother the Lady Galadriel, "They remind me of you, and they trusted me, they all did. I need you to trust me too."_

A much-awaited Awakening in **Jimmy Goran **may have been perceived as a tad bit late, for I know it was looked for constantly and came only toward the end, in Chapter 40:

_Jimmy Goran stood by the door. The man was deeply asleep, it seemed, his back to the hacker rising and falling. The sight was strangely warming, and though the dwarf felt he should sleep in the empty bedroom instead and leave this room of Aragorn's for Legolas to share for when the elf returns later, he could not leave either. At first it was in want of that warmth, the man's assuring sight before him. And then he realized he also wanted to one-up the elf for some reason…_

_…Jimmy Goran listened because he couldn't stand not to. The voices were comforting. These are voices his heart knew. _

_He was profoundly weary, but now he could not seem to find the heart to sleep, for he was excited too. Fire was coursing through his veins, warming him, and warning him that Gimli Son of Gloin was going to burst forth from him at any time now. It was good to be with old friends. It was invigorating._

_He kept his eyes open and his mind awake, as those two voices permeated memory after memory that danced across his thinking. He wanted to be awake, he wanted to feel that exact moment when all that he knew, all of himself was reclaimed and at last complete, as complete as he felt long ago, blazing through life side by side with a friend…_

_Gimli was coming back. And he knew he was himself again and at last, when he felt his heart hammer with excitement at the prospect of looming over the elf when Legolas wakes up, and greeting him good morning just before he says, Ha! Look it here, lad. I'm taller than you._

The reason for the delay can be simple; as surely as writers are moved my instinct and inspiration, I simply found no need to awaken him any sooner. Upon deeper reflection though, I guess I pictured that quasi-criminal Jimmy Goran the Hacker was a bit of a recluse; untrusting, with no real friends. I did not want to just 'push' him or force him into relationships simply by virtue of the recollections of Gimli. I wanted Goran to find friends, and _then_ in finding friends, to find himself. Of course, he'd awaken to a moment amongst the Three Hunters, and have bits and pieces of recollections because of Legolas, as in Chapter 29 and he sees Legolas' mournful face and remembers seeing it before.

Another reason for the delay of his recollections is that he's been hanging around Haldir instead of the Mirkwood Prince. He was magnetizing to a bit of a challenge, the antagonism of Haldir, just as he was first drawn to Legolas in LOTR… which he did not find in Legolas of FEE, because by then, the elf had more caring for him by virtue of their history together. This was recognized by Haldir in Chapter 38:

_"I'm going with you," Goran said flatly, booking no arguments. _

_Haldir glanced at him with a bit of a smirk._

_"You have a bit of an affinity for elves, Mr. Goran," said Haldir, "When you come back to yourself, however, you'll find you've been mistaking me for some other blond, pompous fellow."_

But the definitive moments were of course, in Chapter 40.

So now that I've reiterated the ground rules concerning awakening, why were certain characters never fully and definitively awakened?

For **Eomer**, I thought that his Awakening would have had something to do with either bitter exile or someone's death. The latter did not happen in FEE, even though there was a schism between him and his uncle, because he was never really torn from Rohan or his family, seeing as Eowyn was with him. As for the death part, it felt a bit of reaching to have Theoden die because he wasn't in the fic long enough or vitally enough for the passing of so-beloved a character to have any true impact. So I passed on it, and decided the Awakening was not necessary, for even though Eomer remained asleep within him, Emmett still shared the same loves anyway.

The same is the case for **Sam**. In LOTR, that love of friend has always been constant, and particularly characteristic of him. He never wavered. So I found no need for an awakening in Sam.

As for **Merry**, I'm sorry to the Merry fans out there but I guess he was not quite so pivotal in this story, which made his Awakening not so much of an important plot point. As I said, everything in the story had to have a justified place, and because the story is complex already, I decided to be economical and not try to force certain events that I did not feel was truly necessary.

Lastly, there was **Bob/Bilbo, Dean/Deagol and Sean/Smeagol**. I never really stirred them awake, because I never really completely brought them into that darkness that they knew in LOTR that was so life-changing that it would have made an Awakening then and now. Deagol stayed alive, Smeagol betrayed but never killed, and Bob Baggins never had the regret of passing the Ring onto Frodo. So that is why I basically let them be.

Character 5: **On the Irrepressible Haldir.**

Haldir is like my sweet tooth. In truth, we did not see all that much of this character in the movies, but he is just well-loved for some reason I've yet to discover :) I only know that I myself am guilty of this affection.

So. Haldir in Interpol, how did that happen. The original version of For Every Evil didn't even have Haldir in it, and no Agent at all. It's funny how he kind of just literally and figuratively appeared at the door, and how the Agent character turned out to be very well-connected and vital to how the story unfolded.

Handsome, aloof, efficient Haldir is in afterthought as close to some 007 supercop as LOTR can get, I suppose, alongside Legolas. But of course, the Mirkwood elf is more 'accessible.' It was truly enjoyable for me, to try and make this really very dry, secular Haldir in Agent Horace Harding. I hope the character was both likeable and familiar (i.e. not such a leap from how he is perceived).

The question, I suppose, is why he's somehow been turned into a human, for it does indeed break some pretty vital rules. And the answer, I guess, is that I have no answer. This same issue is addressed in the end, in the Epilogue:

_"I wonder, yes," replied the ex-elf, "But I find I cannot question. Or at least, I cannot question in anger, or as if I knew a better way. I dare not, for I can only question living once again as a human if I can question why I once was an elf. There is no questioning to be made, because there are no answers to be had. We appear in whatever way the gods make us, and the gods make us how the world needs us. Or how we need to be. This is as true for myself, as surely as it is for you and all whom we know."_

_"Well," Legolas hesitated, "Does it not make you feel any… any…"_

_"Less?" Haldir finished for him with a laugh, "You bigot."_

_"I was seeking another word," Legolas retorted primly._

_"I bet," said Haldir, indulging him, "Mellon-nin, truly, how much does it matter where we are, what we are, who we are with, as long as we are happy? I have a feeling I found something here."_

I was not shy over some vagueness, the fact that there will be some things left unanswered. The fic is actually a whole lot of questions. Primarily, the WHAT IF which can be seen in the ideas regarding not only the AU timeline, but also the possibilities of second chances. And then Horace Harding of Interpol somehow came alive, and it's simply another What if in a story that was based precisely on that question.

Other questions, are of course if you noted, more philosophical ones that question the relevance of Choice and the force of Destiny. Can we change our path? In Aragorn's case, it seemed like he couldn't because he made the same choice as before. And in the cases of Bob Baggins and the Malcolm cousins, they were unknowingly traveling the same destructive path. But then here we have a living Boromir, an Eomer that does not awaken, a Frodo who tosses away the 'Ring.' All this, once again, points to an open-ended question that leaves you, the readers, to ponder yourselves.

Character 6: **On the Much Beloved Gimli.**

I knew from the very start of FEE that there would be hackers, forgers, etc. to legitimize the place of the immortal elves in the modern, beurocratic world. What I did not know was that along the length of the story, this would turn out to be Gimli.

It just struck, suddenly, and the wordplay of 'hacker' pertaining to an axe-bearing dwarf was more an accident that I noticed, rather than intentionally pursued!

Characters 7 and 8: **On the Twin Sons of Elrond**.

Ah, I feel like I've known these guys more from fanfiction and personal resulting imagination than from any other Tolkien source. Onbe of the reasons why fanfiction is so dear to my heart, they just widen your world, don't they?

So, Elladan. For some reason I make him out to be the straighter arrow. Maybe it's the calm of that name. Anyway, it stuck, and you'll see in my fics that this is generally how I depict him.

Elrohir was just a joy to write. You may have noticed just how much fun I had tossing him in crazy situations, giving him the quirkiest lines. If I should write the sequels though, the part he plays will be a bit darker, the choices he'll make will be harder and greater.

I have great love for this pair of characters, and whether or not you guys agree with the depiction, I hope that at least you'll see my effort, and my respect for them.

Character 9: **On Grima Wormtongue and Philosophy.**

As I said, FEE is a story of more questions than answers. I tried to put myself in that villain place, and I guess I found that it wasn't that he was evil… it was just that he was brokenm and misled. Once again echoing the sentiments of the Eowyn that I wrote, in chapter 40:

_There was no excuse for villainy, there never was. But the helpless feeling was no stranger to her, that thrownness, the_ absurdity. Perhaps… perhaps one life is not enough to understand it all.

I know I made him out to be despicable, but I hope he did not lose that human, realistic face either.

**On the Characters You Might Have Been Looking For**.

Inescapably, we have to bring up the subject of Arwen Undomiel. The Evenstar, Elessar's battlecry and lady love was a pointedly absent character. She's never really had a place in my fics (as those of you who've read my works may have noticed). I have this strange feeling that I don't _know_ her quite well. She's like, the Appendix to the story, and at the same time still quite loved. She is actually one of the main reasons why I'm seriously pondering on working on a sequel. I already have her reincarnation, and it may or may not come as a surprise to all of you. Anyway, I'll talk about this more in my notes concerning the sequel. Also, expect Lord Elrond and a few more beloved elves appearing in the coming installations. I suppose the only reason they were not in For Every Evil is because I couldn't come up with a very vital place for them. I try to be economical; the story is complex enough, without me having to 'force' characters into a fic just because I feel 'they have to be there' when I cannot yet think of a real purpose for them. As I said, if there's a gun in the first scene, there's a body in the next. Everyone has to have a place, and I hope I managed to show that each of the characters placed in For Every Evil had something to do with the bigger picture.

* * *

VIII. THE FOR EVERY EVIL TRILOGY. It's too soon to say if these will ever even come out, but the basic plot is certainly in existence already. I want to branch out a bit into other fandoms for awhile (specifically the strangely entrancing King Arthur), and for those of you who've been following my writing, I have plans and then something else comes before them suddenly, when I get inspired by something else. Besides, For Every Evil has a pretty good reception so far, it's kind of scary to release a pair of follow-ups that may not be as good (I say a pair, because you know I have a compulsion; I can't end with one and two, it has to be a round three).

Anyway, FOR EVERY EVIL 2, presently untitled, is going to be drasticaslly modern. I look to For Every Evil 1 as a bit of a transition from the original LOTR to the modern AU. It's style, the parallelisms and themes, were all geared toward helping the reader make a comfortable shift from seeing beloved characters in older times to seeing them in modern day. Once that is established, I feel more comfortable going into second gear—a really modern piece with really modern themes.

**For Every Evil 2** is going to tackle bioterrorism. An artificially engineered epidemic hits the hospital where Adrian Aarons (Aragorn) works, and everyone inside is quarantined. This means we'll be seeing Brad (Boromir) and Fred (Faramir) at work with Aragorn. We'll also see an outpatient who was incidentally at the wrong place at the wrong time (or the right one?)-- Arianne Underhill, a movie star, and also incidentally the reincarnation of the Evenstar (I figured, modern 'royalty'). We'll see romance and medical drama in the hospital. Outside it, we'll see action and mystery with Leland Greene (Legolas) hard at work trailing a suspect and working with Horace Harding (Haldir) of Interpol, and the agency's rawest recruit, Jimmy Goran (Gimli). Far from L.A. and in Europe, we'll see a few more elves have come from Valinor to go to a wedding: Anatalia Craxi now has to meet the parents of fiancée Elladan, as he has to sort out his differences with her protective father Marcelo. I also liked the idea of tossing this renewed conflict on Elrond, about the immortal child loving a human, so the topic will be revisited.

**For Every Evil 3** is a story of 'going back,' as a closing to the trilogy. After a horrendous accident on the job, Leland Greene's life hangs in the balance, and the identity of Legolas Greenleaf is at last made known to the world when his fading body requires a transfusion from one with like blood: the blood of the elves. Elladan and Elrohir must now make the choice of whether or not to reveal themselves and save their friend, a much harder choice for Elladan now that he has a family and risks their safety also. Rafe Montes, Leland Greene's partner, must now struggle to make the choice of where his heart truly lies, as he ponders spiriting his friend away, or following his orders. As it becomes clearer and clearer that the elves left in the earth must flee its circles once again as they are hunted and hounded, the Fellowship reunites for a daring rescue and escape.

If you've read my other 'big' trilogy, the Exile Trilogy, the final installment "Return" also ends with basically where the story began. As is the case in FEE 1, where the last scene mirrors the first, and where the trilogy, if it should ever come into fruition, will be similarly structured. This is because I look upon a journey like an oddessy. There has to be a return, and though the place is the same, the person looks at it now in a different way. That is why FEE3 will ultimately bring our characters back to Valinor, from where Legolas came from at the start of FEE.

A very important note, though. These are just plots and well, I always have plots. This means that I make no promises in their completion. I put them down here so that I won't forget about them, and for those of you who are very much interested in the timeline to have an idea of where and how far FEE can go. But this is by no means a promise.

There are various reasons for this:

First, _For Every Evil_ turned out to be a much bigger tale than I thought it would be—almost 300 pages in MSWord, and very expansive. I do not yet feel that my sequels could have the same grandiose scale, and I do not feel right about a trilogy wherein the succeeding installments do not meet the quality of the first, or feel as large because it would then feel disjointed and misplaced. I do not want to disappoint readers, and ultimately myself, if I come up with a piece that does not have the same standard.

Secondly, because I will ultimately try and make the sequels feel as 'large' as the first, it will take a lot of time and effort I likely do not have.

Thirdly, I've also been wanting to expand to other fandoms and its like an itch that won't stop until I've tried it out, as in all my ventures in all these years.

So there. No promises guys, and please don't be mad, haha-- I hope you know by now that always and inalienably, I do try my best in whatever piece I release.

* * *

IX. MASSIVE THANKS AND REPLIES

guys, I hope I didn't miss anyone because this fic never would have been made or finished without your help and inspiration. You're all here, I think, and in alphabetical order too :) If you aren't, tell me because I'll make the necessary corrections—I do want to thank you and thank you just so much. I can't say it enough. I know we're all pressed for time, and I thank you so much for sharing some of yours with me. I'm forever grateful and I really hope it all turned out to your liking and enjoyment. Love always. THANKS TO ALL WHO READ AND ALL WHO READ AND REVIEWED!!!

Ainu Laire, Aislynn Crowdaughter,Alatariel Narmolanya, Aldariel, Aldaron's Nahar, Alexis Revenlockes, Amlee, Ammerz, Amy, Ana, Angelhereal, Anita H ,Anne, Anya,

 Aranna Undomiel – I hope it somehow turned out to your liking :) thank you for taking the time, I know you were very tentative at the start :)

Arayelle Lynn, Artemis, Astievia, Athena Odessa, Azalaire, Bakuscrazdfangrl, Barbara Kennedy, Benign Sadist, Beregond, Bill-the-Pony, Celias 23 ,Chica, Child of the Golden Leaves, Chris/Unplugged 32, Cold Like Fire,

Cosmic Castaway – oh, yes, Legolas would make for a hot cop, wouldn't he? haha

Cotume- Anatalia's name came from a woman I met while in line, can you believe it? She was just a wonderful person, with a wonderful name and so I decided, why not? :)

Crecy, crimsonskye, Dagni, Darlin'DarlaDawq, dd9736 ,Deana, Delphine Pryde, Dogmartix, Dora, Dragonfly, Dragonfly32 ,Eathiln, Eile Igen Briain, Elessar-Lover, Elfchic02, Elliroc ,Elrohir Lover,

 ElvenEyes – haha, I don't do government work; I'm a college student. But if you read Bilbo's speech in chapter 31, I'm like that—dreamy eyes and books and movies. I also have a passion for history and knowledge, and in writing, I also value research.

ElvenKitten, ElvenRanger 13 ,ElvenSailorGirl, Emma Laraliean ,Emily, Emily V, Emma Lara Liean, Erin/Sangfroid, EverKitsune ,FacetedMind, Fellace ,Freak Moister ,Frodofreak88 ,Frozen Flare, Gissela,

 Grecian – oh I'm so glad you liked Anatalia. OFC's are a gamble, they always make me nervous!

Grumpy, Gwyn, Hanyou Demonness, Happy Yaoi Lover 2, Hermes09, hi, u dont no mi ,Hobbit Killer, hyper-health-critic, Ice Dragoness 1, Idle Mind ,Ilirium, Immortalwizardpirateelf-fan, InkaCajo, Irish Anor,

 Ithiliel silverquill – wow, thank you! I'm so happy I managed to get you to stick through all my craziness, as wary as you were at the start. Thank you so much :)

Jaylen,

Jedi Cosmos – Ah, yes, Arwen. The great question… I guess its strange to have an adventure without her but I wasn't quite certain how to fit in her conflict into the story. The fic was a gamble enough, but I put it out because I was at least certain of the general direction. She did not make her way into the 'cut' because I thought it would be more of an injustice to have her hovering about with my uncertainty, and that's why she is not there, though her presence is ultimately promised (in Aragorn's future) too. See my note in the afterword for more on this topic. It's at VIII CHARACTERS.

Joee1 – haha, if I can live on writing and making people excited and happy, I would (even without your caffeine bribe)! I'm just real pleased you're all so receptive. I'll try and do the sequels but I'm not all that sure about them. We'll see :)

Jule, Juno Magic, Just Another stupid idiot, K, Karone Evertree, Kasmi Kassim ,Keeperspaz15,

Kirsten – you can translate it if you want. I'm actually quite honored that you would want to. My policies with regard to this have always been that as long as there is proper credit (to me and to you, of course, for translating), and it reaches more people, it thrills me :)

Kirsten Z ,Kit Cloudkicker, K'lara7,

Knight Kenobi of Eryn Lasgalen – You asked me about Legolas' looks very early in the fic and I guess I was vague because I was unsure. We love the long hair, we all do. But then how's it to fit in the timeline? This is why I was very much not keen on the description of his look, so as the reader can imagine exactly how he/she wants the elf to look right at the onset, and it's one less thing to try and absorb; the genre is a leap as it is, I did not want to make in anymore alienating by injecting my own version which may or may not be what is most acceptable :)

Koriaena, Kuro Kyoko ,Lackwit ,Lady Eleclya, Lady Isowen ,Lady Laswen ,Lady Lenna, Lady Lunas,

 Lady of the Twilight Woods – actually I'd love to refer to the twins' profession as 'idle rich' but I know there's more to it than that. Money grows in banks, compounded by the years. So whatever they put in as principal, it grows by interest. If the principal is big enough, and therefore the interest is big enough each year, they can live on the interest alone and never have to touch the principal at all. So they'll always have money (especially since they're so old that all that money would have grown so much over the years). But they spend their time managing an estate too, and ironically, they have so much that their work is managing their investments and savings. So that's what they do :) I think Elladan talks about this in Chapter 4 to Anatalia and Elrohir talks about this to Legolas in Chapter 7 and it's also in my Afterword in the section entitled TECHNOLOGY.

Lady Readalot, LadyDeb 1970, Laebeth, Laer 4572, Landorie Lani Leap, Lil'layah

Linaeve – well, no more elves than the twins of Elrond, their servants and Legolas. I guess you can count Haldir too, haha. I hope it still turned out all right though :) More elves will come in the sequels if I should ever write them. The plots are in the Afterword.

Lirenel,

Lisette – ah yes, why is Haldir a man? It's a bit of an irresistible plot point to me, much as the writing of a genre that up to now I've strayed away from was something irresistible suddenly. I always say that every single element of a story must have a reason, must justify their place. An Interpol agent is justified along the course and I guess the archetype fit my impression of Haldir. Because he is generally perceived to have died (going by the movie), I wondered how I'd put him in the story considering I'm a fan of the character. So what I did was to merge the agent with the much-beloved character. The agent was almost just incidentally human, and truly I can't think of a rationale because while I insist on order, I also understand the occasional thrownness of inspiration. I guess this was why the same question was tackled in the epilogue. My afterword, and generally everything near to the end of my fics are always a point of reflection—where this came from, why this was there, et cetera. And that's why the epilogue tackled the same question and had the same answer—simply put, I don't know, haha. The idea was appealing at the time, and I guess I'm learning that I don't mind the occasional ambiguity. The story is, after all, open-ended when it came down to the questions of destiny, resurrection, what the gods really wanted of them, where will they all go now, et cetera.

Little Me, Littleneko, Lolly pop 3, Lost, LOTRFAith, Lukeyoung,

 Lulu Belle – welcome back! And I don't know where my ideas come from either, haha.

Manders1953, Mariko, Morwen, Mischakitsune ,MSL ,Mystic 23, Mystic Catface ,Narwen, Almiriel,

 Newmoon- actually I never read "Brothers in Arms." I think quite some time ago, I stumbled upon it and bookmarked it to read, but I never got to all of it—you know how it goes, time constraints and stuff. But since you pointed it out, I checked it out again and am intrigued. I hope I'll find the time to really get into that because I'm curious to see how others recreate the modern LOTR concept too :) thank you!

Nightwoman,

 Nikki1 – haha, the technological stuff was a big gamble, but as you'll read in my notes, it's really like a huge part of the style and feel that I'm trying to evoke for the story. I'm glad you like the whole phone-stuff :)

Ningwen ,Obsydia, Orchi, Orlandochick05 ,Pethron ,Phoenix Golden Fire, Phydothis,

Platy – ah, yes, Dan Brown. I love him to pieces and I guess you can say he's a major influence in this line of storytelling to me, although there have been some lesser-known influences like him in my writing, he's the one who really got me thinking in all sorts of directions. I'm flattered you'd think of him in relation to my effort.

Prettyfoot, Princess of Legends ,Psycho Elf,

 Ptath – I'm sorry, no Arwen or Elrond. The idea is tempting though, hence the possibility of the sequels in my Afterword. I'm unsure though :)

Purple Rose 44 ,Quiet Infinity,

 Rae132 – I'm so sorry for all the confusion! I don't know how to remedy it, I just hope you don't feel like I wasted your time! :)

RandomInsanePersonW/Explosives, Rasha, Reader, Red Minerva ,Reion, Rikkali, Rougish Smile, Sabrina ,Sailor Elf, Sareh/Aldaron's Nahar, Sesshyangel, Setrinan,

ShadowHeart6 – haha, a fellow Starbucks aficionado!

Sharon ,Silvertongue ,Sky ,Sorry u don't no mi ,

Specialfeel – I'm sure you found this story pretty wild, along the course of it. I just hope it turned out okay :)

Starcat1, Starlit Hope ,

Starlit Jewel – The hobbits are the normal size of young men. I considered making them smaller, but I wanted to make them less eye-catching in an age when they aren't so common. By the way, belated happy birthday to you!

Star-Stallion,

 Stoneage Woman – I hope you know that you're highly instrumental in my efforts to improve. I don't correct the fics that I've already posted, I'm sure you've noticed this, I just don't have the time. But your work is never in vain, for all the knowledge I've picked up from you always makes iyself known in the next project. Really, I'm sure you can trace the improvement of the quality of my pieces from when you started to point out my errors. Thanks always for taking the time :)

Tatsuko,

 Templa Otmena – oh yes, the story was a wild, wild risk for me. I was just really terrified. It's been hanging around in my computer for awhile before I decided 'what the heck,' who knows… I'm a fan of fanfiction and if it works for me, it just might work for somebody else. And then For Every Evil made its debut. Thanks for the time and the trust :)

The Archer 777 ,

The Cheese Turkey – haha, I do think of it as a movie too, in a sense. When I write big stories like this, I know that movie-scope is how it should feel. I really work on that 'big' feeling (as you'll see in my afterword in the part entitled the SCALE) so I'm really happy you see it :)

The Penumbra, Tina ,Tineryn, Tinlaure ,Tinnuial ,Trill, Trouble Maker Queen ,Tsurugi-Chan ,

Tychen – haha, I'm not surprised you don't quite have a liking for my OFC… they're always a gamble. I just hope you didn't find her too intrusive to the story. Also, there are no orcs… even if they'd likely fit the modern setting best of all, haha.

Vicki Turner – thanks so much for giving it a try; I was very wary of venturing into this genre myself, actually :) glad you liked it!

WeasleyTwinsLover1112, Yavannie Leaves, Yavie Aelinel ,You Never Know ,Young Storyteller and Z21

THANKS SO SO MUCH AND I HOPE FEE DIDN't DISAPPOINT! 'Til our next adventure :)


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